Of Plenty
by Strawberry Shortcake123
Summary: While celebrating their reinstatement as NCIS agents, Tony and Ziva drink too much and go too far. They decide to put the night behind them- until Ziva finds out that she is pregnant.
1. Chapter 1

**The plot of this story is stolen directly from **_**Friends**_**, season 8. As in, I watched this certain arc of **_**Friends**_**, then searched for stories that had this specific plot line, couldn't find any, so decided to write it myself. It takes place after season ten, once Tony, Ziva, and McGee are reinstated. Thanks muchly to Jae (jae-vous) for reading everything for me!**

"And so, finally-"

"_Finally_," Tony repeats under his breath, low enough that only Ziva can hear. She tries to scowl at him but never quite manages it. Ducky's toast _has_ grown a bit lengthy; her arm is beginning to grow sore from holding up her drink.

"-here's to teammates being reunited once more. Duty calls, my friends."

There is a pause as the words settle over the group, and then, predictably, Abby breaks the silence. "To Team Gibbs!"

Ducky and Jimmy chuckle; Tony and McGee rumble in agreement. Even Gibbs cracks a smile. Ziva finds herself filled with warmth from head to toe as she raises her glass to clink against the others'. Since being reinstated as an NCIS agent earlier this afternoon, she has barely been able to stop grinning. Her four months of unemployment are now a thing of the past. Everything is back to the way it is supposed to be: Gibbs' mission is over, Richard Parsons has cut a deal with Director Vance and taken his nosiness elsewhere, and she, along with Tony and McGee, will be reporting for work on Monday morning.

The past year has been hard on her- on all of them. But now, sitting in a restaurant with the eclectic group of people she considers family on a night that feels like a new beginning, Ziva feels more optimistic about the future than she has in a long, long time.

They drink to Team Gibbs. As glasses are plunked down and conversations resume, her partner lightly pokes her in the side. She turns toward him. "Hmm?"

"You wanna come over after this?"

His face is warm and inviting, his eyes hopeful. The two of them spent a lot of time alone together over the summer, since they were both out of work and McGee was busy writing his new novel. In fact, Ziva was at his apartment so often that she began buying him groceries, since he seemed completely opposed to the task and there was never anything for her to eat. She loves how close she and Tony have grown, and she would honestly love nothing more than to end this wonderful day in the company of her partner and best friend.

"Sure," she replies, lightly tapping her knee against his beneath the table. "It's a date."

Tony grins. She pretends that her heart doesn't skip a beat.

0000000000

Two hours later, she is sprawled across the couch with her feet in his lap, nursing a beer and listening to- but not really watching- _Moulin Rouge_. Mostly, her eyes stray toward Tony. He has seen this moviea thousand times before, as evidenced by his tendency to mouth lines and react to events that have not yet occurred. Even so, he clearly continues to be fascinated by it. And Ziva is fascinated by him.

She is startled when one of his large hands settles on her ankle. Feeling her jump, Tony looks over. "You okay?"

"Yes." She leans her head back against the armrest, and Tony returns his gaze to the television. His fingers tickle as they slide lightly over her skin. To smother her giggle (which is probably somewhat alcohol-induced in the first place), she raises her beer to her lips. The sensation is relaxing; if she didn't have a bit of a buzz going, it might have been enough to lure her to sleep. As it is, Tony succeeds only in keeping her wide awake and kindling within her a very foolish desire to lean up and pull him in close.

They have not actually spoken of it; they're not the sort of people who put things out in the open. Even so, their mutual attraction is not a secret. Ziva has been harboring feelings for him so long that she can't even remember when they started, and she sees the way he looks at her; she notes the tenderness with which he touches her on the hip or arm. Last spring, they had seemed to be on the cusp of something more. The memory of dancing with him in Berlin still makes her stomach flutter like a teenager's. Then they came home and everything got complicated again, and that was a time when she _did_ put the ultimate problem out in the open: their friendship was the most important one in her life. She could not afford to jeopardize it.

That friendship turned out to be her greatest comfort over the course of an otherwise difficult summer, and she has been so thankful for it. She's tried not to ponder the possibility of repaving the same path that she and Tony were heading down in April. Now, in her slightly drunken state of mind, with her inhibitions lowered somewhat, she does allow her mind to venture there. Because how long _will_ their friendship last if they are both constantly fighting the desire for more?

"Ziva."

For the second time in ten minutes, he jars her from her thoughts. She snaps her head up to look at him. "Hmm?"

"Are you okay? You had a weird look on your face."

"Oh." Curling into her side of the couch, Ziva tugs her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them. "Yes, I'm fine. Just thinking."

Tony shifts to face her, the movie apparently forgotten. "What about?"

She shrugs. "Things. Work." A breath in. "You."

_ Damn it._

"What about me?" he asks. There is his hand again, reaching for hers. She allows only a brief moment of hesitation before turning her palm outward and meeting him halfway, their fingers immediately entwining. His grip is warm and strong. Would it be too much to ask for him to always hold onto her like this, to keep her feet firmly rooted to the ground?

"Tony," she breathes. The movie plays on in the background, but it is just static noise; she doesn't hear a word of it. "Tony, I…"

He waits. She trails off.

"You know," he says, a hint of amusement laced through his voice, "you never actually finish that sentence."

And she still doesn't, not now. Instead, she lunges forward and kisses him.

His mouth opens in surprise; she takes it, takes whatever she can get. Soon, she feels Tony's muscles relax, and he seizes her around the waist. She presses herself as close to him as possible. Reason be damned, judgment be damned, this feels good. It feels _right_. Ziva has not experienced this sweet sensation of his lips on hers in far too long, not since that undercover operation years and years ago.

That was fake.

This is very, scarily real.

Tony breaks away just long enough to draw in a quick breath, then bows his head and brings his lips back to hers. They exchange a series of short pecks, some lingering longer than others. At their next breather, he whispers, "What are we doing here, Ziva?"

His eyes are wide; he appears exhilarated and terrified at the same time. She is more the former than the latter. Stroking along the waistband of his jeans, she drops a kiss in the hollow of his throat. "Whatever you want," she murmurs.

"You know what I want." The words come out on a sigh. "You know."

"Yes, I do," she admits. Shifting so that she is completely in his lap, she winds her arms around his neck and presses her forehead against his. She brings one hand up to caress his cheek. "We should let it happen, Tony."

Tony holds her gaze for a long moment, and then he tugs her back toward him. They move slowly; it takes a while for things to escalate. But when they do, _oh_, they do. Right before they reach the point of no return, they pause to have a hurried discussion about protection. She's on the pill; he is reluctant to continue with no condom, but that would require a trip to the grocery store, and she doesn't think she can bear to stop. After establishing that they're both clean, he gives in.

And she is so glad for it. Because when he braces his elbows next to her head and pushes slowly into her, stars burst in front of Ziva's eyes. She releases a low, guttural moan when he begins to move. He seals his mouth over hers and receives her sounds of pleasure, and she thinks that she has never loved him more.

Except for a few minutes later, when the world has fallen apart for the both of them and they are tangled together in his bed, panting heavily. Then, she realizes how far gone she is. It occurs to her that having sex with Tony could turn out to be either the best decision of her life, or the worst- and she wonders what, exactly, she has just done.


	2. Chapter 2

He wakes up alone.

It hasn't been long since she left; the bed is still warm where she lay. He rolls onto his side and buries his face in her pillow, inhaling her scent. Outside the window there are cars driving by, the groan of a garbage truck, the shout of a child- normal sounds. It seems strange that the rest of the world should just carry on as usual while Tony is lying here, frozen, reluctant to get up and face whatever consequences he has brought on himself.

The sex had been amazing. Hands down, the best of his life. None of the many Ziva fantasies he's accumulated over the years hold a candle to the way it actually felt to have her writhing in pleasure beneath him, calling out his name and gripping him as if her life depended on it. He wasn't prepared for the spike of emotion afterward that had him blinking back tears. No woman had moved him like that since Jeanne. And now that he's experienced Ziva, he doubts anyone will again.

Letting out a groan, he swings his legs out of bed and stands up. That's when he hears footsteps coming down the hall. _What the hell? _he thinks, quickly tugging on his boxers. He is reaching for his gun when Ziva comes through the door balancing two plates of scrambled eggs and two cups of coffee.

The grin is plastered across his face before he even realizes it. _She didn't leave_. "Hey."

"Hello." Ziva sends him a small smile and hands him his breakfast before lowering herself onto the edge of the bed. She has on panties and one of his t-shirts. Even though she swims in it, it's sexy as hell. "How did you sleep?"

"Good," Tony says, still a little taken aback that she's here. He sits down beside her and takes a bite of his eggs. "You?"

"Very well."

He glances over at her. Her face is red and flushed; there are a couple of hickeys on her neck. (His, too. He noticed when he got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom.) She looks relaxed and content. This is Ziva in her rarest form, and he loves it.

He loves her.

Tenting one knee up on the bed, he carefully nestles his coffee mug in the triangle formed by his legs. She mirrors his position so that the fronts of their calves rest lightly against each other. They eat their breakfast in a comfortable silence, the only sound coming in the form of soft laughs when Ziva brushes a bit of egg off his upper lip. Aside from the whole morning-after thing, this really isn't weird; were they not half-naked and a bit touchy, it would feel like any other meal between friends.

"So what now?" Tony asks after a while, as their forks are scraping their nearly empty plates.

Ziva pauses and exhales. The two of them have always been in sync, even in the earliest days of their partnership; she knows that he is not asking what is next in their day, but what is next for _them_. He hates himself for causing her to tense up like that, and for causing the negative mood shift in the room. He had to ask, though. This _whatever_ that exists between him and Ziva- it's too important to mess up. It is the one thing in his life that absolutely must turn out okay.

Tony watches her mouth twist to one side, the way it sometimes does when she is figuring out how to word something. He touches her bare knee. "Hey. It's okay."

"No, it's not. I do not want to hurt you, Tony."

His stomach twists unpleasantly. "It's okay," he repeats, though he's no longer sure that it will be. "Just say it."

She grabs both of his hands and holds them in an iron grip. "You are my best friend."

"You're mine."

"I do not want things to go wrong between us."

"Why are you always so convinced that they will?" he asks, frustrated. This conversation bears an uncanny resemblance to the one they had a few months ago, back in May, after Ziva stormed out of Gibbs' cabin. He didn't especially care for the way that one ended. "You were there last night, Ziva. That wasn't just sex, and you know it."

"Yes, I do know it. That is what scares me." He tries to free his hands, but she refuses to let go. "There is a reason we never pursued this before. Our jobs prevented it, and now we are going back. Things would be different if this had happened in June. But it did not."

He shakes his head. A rushing sound fills his ears, as if he has jumped off a cliff and the bottom is not near enough. "So, what? You want to just give this up?"

"I want to wait," she clarifies gently. "I want to find stability at NCIS again, reestablish ourselves there."

Now, Tony does stand up and step away from her. Ziva stares at him, stunned. He can't believe what he has to do.

"I think you should leave."

His statement hangs heavily in the air between them. It's everything he can do not to retract it, beg her forgiveness, say that _yes, of course they can wait,_ they can wait as long as she needs. That's what a bigger man would do. But he has tasted what could have been, and now she is taking it away from him, and it is too much. He has to send her away before he agrees to this arrangement and ends up putting his life on hold- something he's been doing already, if he is to be honest- for something that she may never allow to happen.

Ziva's eyes, wide and sad, beg him to change his mind. "Tony…"

"Please, Ziva. Just…" He stops. "I'll see you on Monday."

After a beat, she nods slowly. "Alright." He watches as she begins to gather her clothes from the floor. "I'm going to change in your bathroom, and then I will go."

She leaves the room without looking back at him, and he stares at their two plates, their two half-empty cups of coffee, with only a mild understanding of what just happened and a desperate wish that he could turn back time.

0000000000

When Tony enters the bullpen at oh eight hundred Monday morning, Ziva is already seated at her desk. He pauses a few steps past the elevator and stares at the back of her head. She is scrolling slowly through her e-mail; from this angle, her demeanor appears deceptively casual. Somebody with less experience in the Ziva department might overlook the way she is sitting rigidly upright in her chair, a contrast to her usual slight slouch. For the billionth time in the past two days, Tony wonders what he should say. She might not want to speak to him at all. He wouldn't blame her, really.

He is still standing behind her when she calls, "Good morning, Tony." While the greeting is not overly warm, it isn't icy, either. He'll take what he can get.

"Hey," he says, finally getting his feet to move forward. Ziva glances at him briefly before turning back to her computer. He stops beside her and opens his mouth. No sound comes out. She doesn't make an effort to help him along. In fact, she keeps her eyes trained on her e-mail, as if she's forgotten that he's there. (Which she definitely has _not_. He can tell by her rigid spine, her tense shoulders.) Tony passes another few seconds standing there like an idiot, then moves past her to his own desk. He tosses his backpack aside and drops heavily into his chair.

Ziva never looks up.

0000000000

Of course, they cannot ignore each other for long. There is work to be done, and they are partners, so they put aside their personal issues and find a way to be productive. Conversation is strictly about the case at first; everything is along the lines of _she was on bad terms with her ex-boyfriend _and _he hasn't used his credit card since Thursday _and _where did you put the file?_ But as the days go by, the awkwardness begins to ebb away. A certain level of familiarity returns. Tony can make fun of McGee, and Ziva will chuckle; they can stop for a quick lunch and enjoy each other's company. The elephant in the room remains untouched. The fact is that they crossed a line they shouldn't have. Ziva was right about at least one thing- their friendship is too important to mess up. And he fears that they may have done just that. Their preexisting chemistry has morphed into something very calculated and fragile; one wrong move, and the whole thing could blow up in their faces.

At night, when he's alone, he takes down the guard that he wears all day. He sits in front of the TV or lies in bed and allows the memory of his night with Ziva to overwhelm him. Sometimes he even closes his eyes and imagines that he can feel her warmth, her kiss, her touch. He knows that it's absolutely pathetic, but he can't muster a single shit to give. Falling in love with his partner was a stupid thing to do in the first place. By now, he's in way too deep.

Might as well get used to it.

0000000000

Six weeks pass relatively quickly with four cases to keep the team busy. Tony is glad for the distraction; there isn't time for him to worry about Ziva when they're chasing suspects, executing search warrants, and interrogating lowlifes. McGee doesn't appear to know that anything is going on between his coworkers. Gibbs, of course, has picked up on it- occasionally, Tony notices him eyeing them suspiciously. He keeps waiting for an order to figure it out, or maybe an elevator confrontation, but their boss never breathes a word about it.

Ziva begins acting strange in mid-November. Not strange in the way they've both been, the I-slept-with-my-best-friend-and-now-things-are-awkward way. She grows very quiet and seems distracted. Whenever somebody talks to her, several seconds pass before she asks, "What?" She shows up late with bags under her eyes, and she disappears during her lunch breaks. Tony tries to let it go- God knows she doesn't want his help- but he can't. Bottom line, she's his priority. That hasn't changed just because they did something stupid.

One morning, he arrives before the others and casually puts a Twix bar down in the middle of her desk. He briefly considers leaving a note, but decides against it. She'll know who it's from, and she'll know what he's trying to say- that everything he offered last year after her father died still applies. He is ready to be a friend to talk to, a shoulder to cry on. Whatever she needs for whatever it is she's going through.

Gibbs comes breezing through the bullpen just as Tony sits down in his chair. McGee arrives right on time.

Ziva is way later than usual. As in, she never shows up.

Twenty-five minutes and four unanswered phone calls later, Gibbs sends Tony to her apartment. He doesn't need to be told twice. His sprint to the parking lot probably sets some sort of record, and the speed at which he drives down the street is well over the limit. Fear grips him like a vise. It's wholly possible that she could be a target of someone with a grudge- a disgruntled associate of Eli David's, or, more likely, an operative loyal to Ilan Bodnar.

And he'd been so busy tiptoeing around her that he hadn't been there to protect her when she needed it.

The thought only causes him to push harder on the gas pedal.

He leaves his car at the curb outside her building while he rushes inside. Two strangers leap out of his way as he pounds up the stairs two at a time. Ziva's apartment is the first on the landing of the third floor. He pauses outside of it, ear pressed to the door, and hears nothing.

"Ziva?" he calls, rattling the doorknob. It's locked. No sign of forced entry- that's somewhat encouraging.

Tony uses his emergency copy of her key to open the door. He's holding his breath when he steps inside, but is not greeted with the gruesome sight he had been preparing himself for. Her keys and phone are on the coffee table, her backpack underneath it. None of the furniture is disturbed. The coffeepot is whirring in the kitchen. She's here.

"Ziva!" He checks to make sure the kitchen is empty, then starts down the short hallway. A muffled sound comes from behind the closed bathroom door. Tony pauses. "Ziva?"

"Yes," she groans.

He pushes the door open only a little at first, making sure she's decent. She is, but her hair is in a messy bun on top of her head and her face is pale and she is kneeling in front of the toilet, arms wrapped tightly around her stomach.

Tony exhales with relief. _She's sick. She's sick, but she's fine_.

"What's the matter?" he asks, grabbing a washcloth and running some cold water over it. "You got a bug or something?"

Ziva doesn't answer. Her eyes slip shut as he wipes off her mouth, then folds the cloth over to the clean side and presses it against her forehead. She drops her head onto his shoulder. In that moment, it is as if no barriers exist between them. Tony strokes her cheek, and she immediately leans into his palm. Her fingers clench around the lapel of his suit jacket.

"Ziva, did you eat some bad food, maybe?"

Her voice is small. "Please don't hate me."

"What?"

Teary-eyed, she lifts her head. Tony's hand slides down to her flushed neck. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Making you have sex without a condom."

"Oh," he says, taken aback. Quite literally, this is the first time either of them have made a reference to that night since she left the morning after. "Well, I mean… it's not… I was fine with it. And you said it was fine, right, because you're on birth control?"

"It failed."

"Oh," he repeats. Then, in one single, life-changing instant, he connects the dots. "Oh. _Oh_. You- Ziva. Oh my God."

"I know," she chokes out. She looks so small and breakable, as if she is two seconds away from shattering into pieces. Her hands hover shakily over her abdomen. "I took several tests earlier this week, and yesterday I had a doctor's appointment during my lunch break. They confirmed it."

Guilt washes over him. She had been dealing with this alone while he sat across from her and merely wondered what was wrong. He should have forced himself into her business- which has turned out to be _their _business, after all- the second he noticed something was off.

_ Pull your head out of your ass, DiNozzo._

"What do you want to do?" he asks gently, brushing some stray hair behind her ears.

Ziva sniffles. "I have not decided. I needed- I needed to talk to you first, and I have not thought beyond that-"

"Okay." He tugs at her waist and is mildly surprised when she falls willingly into his embrace. "That's fine. We have plenty of time. It's okay," he adds when he feels her tears hit his skin. "Don't cry."

Even as he says it, he is dangerously close to doing just that.


	3. Chapter 3

"You're sure you're okay?"

Groaning, Ziva burrows further into her pillow. "I am fine, Tony. I just need to rest. Go back to work."

"Okay." But he still doesn't leave her bedside. Instead, he opts to fuss with the light afghan draped over her body, making sure her feet are covered. His concern, while somewhat excessive, is touching. "What should I tell Gibbs?"

Ziva sighs and rubs her forehead. She is not quite ready to deal with this. All she wants to do is sleep. "Not the truth. Not yet. Say that I am ill."

For the thousandth time in the past twenty minutes, Tony's eyes drop down to her abdomen. She pointedly rolls onto her stomach, and he returns his gaze to her face. "Sorry."

"I know it is big news," she says, pleased to hear her voice come out steady. She flushes with embarrassment whenever she remembers the emotional state he found her in earlier. Everything she's ever heard about pregnancy hormones has turned out to be correct thus far, and she is not enjoying it. "But as you said, there is plenty of time for us to figure this out. And we will."

Tony nods. "I know. I'm just… I'm having some trouble wrapping my mind around it."

"So am I," she admits. She has wanted to be a mother for some time now. If she is being honest with herself, that is the primary reason she considered marrying Ray at one point- she _did_ care for him, occasionally felt in love with him, but he'd also seemed like her best chance to have the children she so desired.

That all went to hell, of course. And perhaps, in the end, it is good that she didn't marry him. After all, Ray Cruz was not the one who starred in her foolish daydreams as the father of her imaginary children. No- that would be the man who sat across from her at work.

None of those fantasies involved one-night stands, of course. There was commitment. Marriage. Even so, she almost feels as if she is living inside of her own head. That's the only place she has ever imagined being able to say, _I am pregnant with Tony DiNozzo's baby_.

He tenderly runs his thumb over her cheekbone. Warmth spreads through her, but she doesn't let it show. "Go," she orders, swatting his arm away. "I'm fine. Really. I will see you tomorrow."

"I'll call you tonight," he counters. She fears that he will continue to linger, but he finally walks away. There is a light touch on her leg as he passes by the foot of the bed. A second later, the door shuts softly behind him.

Ziva curls her blanket under her chin and stares at the wall for a long time before sleep overtakes her.

0000000000

When she makes a punctual appearance at work the next morning, she half-expects Gibbs to turn narrowed, suspicious eyes on her, but he barely glances up from his computer screen. Tony must have done a good job lying. "Hey, Ziver. You feeling better?"

"Much," she says, falling into her chair. Nausea has not made an appearance thus far today. For that, she is extremely grateful. "I suppose I just had a little bout of flu."

McGee whistles under his breath as he walks over to the whirring printer. "That stuff's been going around lately. Did you get your shot this year?"

"No," she says truthfully.

"Don't get your panties in a bunch, McSickly," Tony tells him. "In my professional opinion, she's not contagious."

Her heart slams forward, and she shoots him a warning look. But McGee continues to go on about cold and flu season, and Gibbs doesn't appear to have any interest in the conversation whatsoever. Tony and Ziva stare at each other. His expression is carefully controlled; she cannot tell what he is thinking, and that makes her nervous. Usually, she has no problem reading him. That skill would be useful now more than ever.

"Justin Adkins was arrested overnight on a DUI charge," Gibbs announces. Ziva ends the staring contest and turns her attention to Gibbs. He is staring down at the screen of his ancient cell phone. Their current case has been a frustrating one; they _know_ that Adkins is the perpetrator, but he did a very good job cleaning up the crime scene. They cannot find a shred of evidence against him. "Local LEOs brought him in; he's downstairs right now. We'll act like we have proof, see if we can break him. All three of you, with me."

They let Adkins sit alone in interrogation for about twenty minutes while they stand on the other side of the glass and watch him. Mostly, he slumps over the table with his head in his arms, groaning occasionally, clearly hung over. Gibbs and McGee finally decide to have a bit of mercy on him. When bright light from the hallway fills the interrogation room, Adkins yelps as if his corneas have just been burned.

"This guy's so out of it," Tony sighs. "They're gonna be in there for hours."

Ziva hums in agreement. McGee leans against the wall and feigns disinterest while Gibbs, as expected, starts right in with the tough love. He yanks the suspect upright by the shirt collar. Adkins, clearly not much with words after a night of drinking, grunts loudly.

"Ziva?"

"Yes?"

When Tony doesn't continue, she glances over at him. The shadows cast over his face by the dark of the observation room only serve to make him look older than he really is. Wrinkles are etched into his forehead. She isn't sure whether or not they have always been there. "What is it, Tony?"

For the first time since the interrogation began, Tony turns away from Gibbs and McGee. He leans his back against the glass so he is facing her, folds his arms over his chest, and then asks simply, "What are we gonna do?"

It is only a little past nine in the morning. Way, way too early for this.

"Must we discuss this now? We are at work-"

"Yeah, thanks, I was just wondering," Tony interrupts sarcastically. "Come on. Gibbs is in there; he doesn't need us to watch. Nothing gets past him." He clears his throat, and it echoes louder than it probably should have. "I couldn't sleep last night, Ziva. I really… we need to talk about it."

Ziva breathes out heavily, sending strands of hair airborne. To be honest, she has done her best to keep the whole situation out of her mind. The most thought she's given it has been in the midst of her efforts to pinpoint the exact moment her life turned into such a soap opera.

"I am keeping the baby," she announces after a moment of deliberation. On the surface, it is a split-second decision; in actuality, there is no other option, and she has known that since the beginning. "You may do whatever you want."

Confusion flickers over Tony's face. "What?"

"I just mean, I am not going to force you to be involved in the baby's life."

"Ziva," he says, reaching for her hands. She watches him lace their fingers together, and she is brought back to that April night just after returning from Berlin, when he stopped his car in the middle of the road and looked at her like she was the eighth wonder of the world. So much has changed since then- and yet, nothing has. "Of course I want to be involved. And not with some stupid every-other-weekend custody thing; I want to be a _father_. I want to be there when our kid wakes up and when they fall asleep. I want to be there for all the important stuff." Tony checks over his shoulder, making sure Gibbs and McGee are still engaged. "I want to raise the baby _with_ you, Ziva."

She cannot deny that the portrait he paints in her head is appealing, and hearing him drop phrases such as _our kid _causes her heart to beat a little faster. He looks so hopeful; she hates having to disappoint him.

"This is not the time for us to begin a relationship, Tony," she says softly, tightening her grip on his hands. Predictably, his face falls. Ziva takes a step closer to him. A mere heartbeat separates them; she could so easily tilt her head up and capture his lips and abandon rational thought in favor of giving in to the feelings they have worked so hard to tame.

Only the thought of her child, an innocent being caught in the middle of this complicated _thing_, keeps her grounded.

Tony regards her sadly. "You know how I feel."

"You know how _I_ feel," she answers.

"I do." He pauses. "And I hate to admit it, but you're probably right to put this on the backburner."

"I usually am," she says flippantly, trying for a bit of humor. She gets a halfhearted smile out of him.

"Can you do me one favor?"

"Of course."

"No matter what's going on with us, can you promise that I'll still get to be a dad?"

Ziva shoots him a real smile, and joy bubbles up in her chest at the thought of her child having the kind of father she never did. Tony will be amazing, she has no doubt. "Yes, I can promise you that," she tells him.

He opens his mouth, but is cut off by a door slamming shut and Justin Adkins screaming, "Where the hell are you going?" Tony and Ziva spring apart and position themselves in front of the glass just seconds before Gibbs and McGee enter.

"We're gonna let him stew for a while," Gibbs says. "DiNozzo, Ziva, go to his house, see if you can find that… that thing he was talking about… what's it called, McGee?"

"An iPad, boss."

"Yeah. That. We don't have one in evidence, but if he did use that to keep notes on the victim, we need to see it."

Tony nods confidently, as if he knew what was going on the whole time. "On it." He starts for the door. Ziva follows. She is afraid that they're going to spend the entire car ride in further discussion about their illegitimate child, and she has had her fill of that for today. But she underestimates Tony; once again, he proves that he knows her inside and out by changing the topic to _Miss Congeniality _and keeping the conversation in a safe zone all the way to Quantico.

And Ziva, as always, is grateful.


	4. Chapter 4

As luck would have it, the Charger runs out of gas in the midst of D.C.'s first winter storm. Tony takes on the gentlemanly task of standing out in the bitter cold while the tank fills up; then he drives forward ten feet to park in front of the convenience store. Ziva opens the passenger side door and pauses with one boot outside and one in. "Do you want anything?"

"Coffee would be good," he says. Nodding, she steps out into the snow and, rather than bothering with it herself, allows the harsh wind to shut her door. He cranks up the heat and blows into his frozen hands. They have just begun to thaw when his phone buzzes in the center console. He answers without checking the caller ID. "DiNozzo."

"Uh, is Ziva David available?"

He draws the phone back from his ear. Oh- it _is_ Ziva's. "Not right now. Can I take a message?"

"This is Dr. Overman's office calling. We just wanted to confirm her ultrasound appointment tomorrow at eight-thirty."

Tony glances toward the clear glass doors of the store. He can see Ziva at the counter, two Styrofoam cups sitting next to her as she shuffles through her wallet. "I'll make sure she gets the message."

"Thank you, sir. Have a nice day."

With a smile, Ziva hands the cashier a few bills. Tony, neglecting to return the receptionist's sentiment, ends the call and watches her come outside. A burst of cold air assaults him when she returns to the car. "Here," she says, placing their drinks in the console. She slams the door behind her. "It is frigid. I heard a man inside say that there will be eight total inches of snow today."

"Your doctor called," he says, and she furrows her brow at him. "To confirm your appointment tomorrow."

"Oh. Yes. Thanks." She takes a sip of her hot chocolate, completely oblivious to his vexation.

Tony considers letting it go, backing out of the parking spot and continuing on their way to follow this lead, but he can't. They stay where they are while snow slowly accumulates on the windshield. "Were you going to invite me?"

She looks over at him, confused. "To the doctor?"

"Yeah."

Her mouth opens and closes before she simply shrugs. "I did not know you wanted to come, Tony. I'm sorry."

He normally has an infinite amount of patience with Ziva- even when they bicker, it is all in good fun- but right now, he is a little frustrated. Didn't they discuss this last month, in the middle of the Adkins case? He'd made it clear that he wants to be involved in all of this, and she doesn't seem to be grasping that. Why wouldn't he want to see the first pictures of the baby, hear its earliest heartbeats?

"Well, can I?" he asks.

Ziva fiddles with the lid of her cup. "I don't think you should tomorrow. If we both come in late, Gibbs will ask questions."

"Yeah. Wasn't thinking about that." Tony turns the windshield wipers on, casting the snow aside. "We're gonna have to tell them soon, you know."

"I know," she says. He puts his foot on the brake, preparing to put the car in reverse, but Ziva curls her fingers around his on the gearshift. She waits to speak until he looks at her. Her ponytail falls over one shoulder as she tilts her head at him. "You may come next time." Tony smiles at her, and he feels his eyes flicker. "Do not look at my stomach," she scolds, using her free hand to grab his chin and turn it away from her. "It makes me uncomfortable. You cannot even see anything yet."

That's not true. When she wears a snug enough shirt, he can tell that her belly has developed a slight curve. He wouldn't have noticed if he didn't know to look for it, but it does exist- actual, physical evidence that they are going to be parents.

Sometimes, when he thinks about it, utter terror overwhelmes him.

But mostly, he wishes that he could stand up on his desk chair and shout the news to the world.

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When Ziva strides into the bullpen the next morning, Tony practically jumps out of his seat. She laughs as he meets her at her desk and helps her shrug out of her coat. "You are, uh, roachy today, yes?"

"Antsy," he corrects. She sits down, tugging her keyboard toward her. Perching on the edge of her desk, he glances over his shoulder to make sure Gibbs and McGee have not yet returned from Abby's lab. "How'd it go?"

"Great. Everything is fine," Ziva says as she logs onto the computer. Then she swivels her chair toward him. Their legs bump into each other. "Here."

From her pocket she produces a small piece of paper folded neatly in half. He flattens it out on his thigh. In the middle of the grainy photo sits a white blob with a distinguishable head and body. _Man_, he can't believe that's his baby, and he doesn't even attempt to stop the grin stretching across his face.

"Looks just like you," he teases Ziva. "When's the due date, again?"

"June 22."

He nods and glances over toward the windows, where somebody has set up both a Christmas tree and a Toys for Tots box. It's weird to think that the two or three toys he donates every year are the only ones he has ever bought in his adult life, but next Christmas, he'll be buying presents for his own kid. Maybe he and Ziva will spend the holiday together. They will unwrap all the toys that the six month old won't have any interest in; then, when the baby peters out and goes down for a nap, he will make popcorn and curl up next to Ziva on the couch. They might watch a movie, or maybe they'll just talk. By that point, maybe they'll feel ready to start a relationship.

He is getting way ahead of himself, and he knows it. Shaking his head, he tries to come back to the present. Ziva scoots a little closer to him and leans over so she can see the photo, too. "The doctor said the baby is just a little over an inch long."

"Wow."

"I know."

"What're you two looking at?"

Gibbs' voice freezes Tony and Ziva.

"Evidence," Tony says unconvincingly, covering the picture with his hand. Gibbs comes to stand in front of Ziva's desk, eyes narrowed suspiciously. With a bemused expression, McGee looks on from his own desk.

"What evidence?"

"Uh, from… well, we found-"

"DiNozzo," their boss warns. A tense silence follows.

Ziva breaks it when she abruptly stands up and snatches the picture out of Tony's lap. She takes a deep breath. He holds his.

"We were figuring out how to tell you," she says, and hands Gibbs the photo. He looks from it to them, back and forth, his face unreadable.

Tony can't keep his mouth shut. "Surprise." Ziva covertly pinches his arm.

"What is it?" McGee asks, craning his neck.

Nobody answers him. "Elevator," Gibbs says, and puts down the photo before heading in that direction, prompting Tony and Ziva to scurry after him. As the three of them arrive at the elevator, Tony turns around.

McGee is leaning over Ziva's desk, jaw agape.

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Of all the times he's been shepherded into this elevator and forced to stand under the glow of the eerie blue lights, this is definitely the worst.

"What the hell is going on?" Gibbs demands. "You're sleeping together?"

"No," Ziva says quickly, and Tony tries not to be offended. She's only trying to get them out of this with some dignity left intact. "I mean, yes, obviously, we did, once. But not since then."

With a massive sigh, Gibbs rubs his forehead. "I swear the two of you have taken ten years off my life." He takes a long sip of his coffee, as if he absolutely cannot continue this conversation without some caffeine in his system. "You're pregnant," he confirms with Ziva.

"Yes."

"But you aren't together?"

Tony sneaks a glance at Ziva and finds her already looking at him. She bites her lip nervously, clearly not wanting to admit that she rejected him. He decides to grow a pair and take the fall. "We discussed it, and we decided that it would be in the best interest of both us and the baby if we didn't pursue that."

The words sound so stoic and rehearsed, as if he's just issued a press release regarding his relationship status with Ziva. She subtly brushes her hand against his, though, and he knows that his effort is appreciated.

Gibbs is penetrating them with the same steely-eyed glare he uses to crack gang bangers and career criminals. His eyes may be angry, but the lines on his face (and the gray hairs on his head) scream exhaustion. "A kid needs a family. A support system."

"Our baby is going to have two parents who love him or her very, very much, Gibbs," Ziva tells him. "And the rest of you will be there, too. We can depend on that, correct?"

As she takes a step closer to him, Gibbs' face softens minutely. "Yeah," he sighs. She gives him a brief hug. Over her shoulder, he looks at Tony. Some sort of understanding passes between the two men, and though Tony can't quite put a finger on what just happened, he likes to think that it is a father-to-father thing. "You two are smart. You'll handle it."

"Thanks, Boss."

"Thank you," Ziva echoes, hands dropping to her sides.

He puts his stern expression back on. "The minute this deal starts messing you up in the office or the field, we're gonna have a problem."

Tony and Ziva share a look. He knows what she's thinking- that they have spent years breaking protocol for each other. Even so, their peanut-sized third party does bring a whole new set of complications into the mix. "We'll stay level-headed," he promises, although there is no real guarantee; he and Ziva don't have the best track record in that regard.

For now, Gibbs accepts his assurances. He turns away from them and sets the elevator back in motion. The three of them quiet as they return to the bullpen. When the doors open, Gibbs says, "Have fun explaining that sonogram to McGee," and then he is gone.

Ziva touches her nose before Tony can even lift his arm. "Not it!"

He groans more for dramatic effect than anything else. In actuality, he doesn't mind at all.

**I hope this chapter didn't have any mistakes in it… I've read over it, but I'm really tired. As soon as I'm done posting this, I'm off to get a 32 ounce caffeinated beverage. Hope everyone is enjoying so far; thanks for all your kind reviews!**


	5. Chapter 5

"Ziva, Ziva, Ziva!"

She closes her eyes just before impact. The force of Abby's enthusiastic hug knocks her rolling chair back several inches. Tony warned her about this when he brought McGee back to the bullpen earlier. Apparently, their flustered coworker had fled to the lab and blurted out the news. That was half an hour ago; frankly, Ziva is surprised it took Abby this long to seek her out.

"Is it true?" she squeals. "Of course it's true. Timmy wouldn't have made that up. You should have seen his face; he was white as a ghost."

"I was a _little _surprised."

Abby ignores him. "And it's with _Tony_?"

"Yes."

"This is so exciting!" Clapping her hands, she walks back out into the open space between the desks. "When did you guys get together?"

Tony and Ziva share a resigned _here-we-go-again _glance. "Abs," Tony pipes up, "we're not."

"What?" Abby snaps her head around toward him, looking crestfallen. "I don't get it. Did you, like… hook up?"

"Yes," Ziva says.

"_When_?"

"The night we got reinstated as agents," Tony informs her. "After we all went out for dinner."

"Oh my-"

"_That's_ why you guys were acting weird when we came back to work!" McGee sounds as if he has just solved a great mystery. "You were being really awkward with each other. I didn't want to ask why; I've learned my lesson about getting into your business."

"Good. We don't really want you in our business, McNosy."

Ziva scoffs at her partner's defensiveness. Is he forgetting about Jeanne Benoit and Michael Rivkin and Paris and Wendy and E.J. and Ray? If she could have escaped all of that, she would have done it, too. (Except Paris. That, she would not trade for anything.) "Think about it, Tony. He is right." Redirecting her focus to Abby, she places her hands on the scientist's shoulders and tries to calm her. "Tony and I had a lapse in judgment. We will remain friends and nothing more. But we are excited about the baby."

Abby throws her arms up in disbelief. "How, though? I mean, are you just going to split custody? While you're _working_ together? Like, 'hey, after we catch this ax murderer you can come to my house and pick up our love child for the weekend'?"

"We have not gotten into the details yet," Ziva says, though she feels a little deflated- when described so bluntly, the idea of coworkers trading a baby back and forth does seem a bit strange. "We have until June to decide how we're going to handle this."

"I just think you guys would be a really good couple."

Behind Abby, Ziva sees Tony purse his lips and lean over the file open in front of him. He is only pretending to read it, pretending for her sake that he is still fine with their arrangement. She is doing some pretending of her own. It is a habit of theirs, after all.

"Perhaps we would," she says to Abby, forcing a smile. Gibbs returns then, asking what they've got for him, and she is grateful for the interruption, even though she has nothing to offer.

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She orders the fettuccine alfredo because she has been craving carbohydrates lately. It arrives on a large plate in a creamy, appetizing heap, and she has shoved a forkful in her mouth before Tony is finished thanking the waiter. He nudges her foot with his under the table. "Hungry?"

"Lunch was seven hours ago."

"Yeah. Long day," he agrees before cutting into his lasagna.

Ziva watches him as he chews. He touches his cheek. "What? Is there something on my face?"

"No." She puts down her silverware and toys with the napkin in her lap. "I was just thinking."

"About what?"

"Gibbs. Abby. The things they said."

Tony shakes his head. "Don't worry about them."

"But what if they are right?"

He reaches across the table, and she willingly places her hands in his larger ones. His warm fingers close over hers. "This is all pretty unorthodox," he says. "We're going to raise a few eyebrows along the way here, Ziva. People are going to ask when our anniversary is and how we met, and when we tell them that we're just friends who happen to have a baby together, they'll probably think it's weird. Because, well, it is. But we're not normal, you know? We never have been."

"That is true." So true, in fact, that she is bothered to hear him say it.

"The only people we need to think about are you, me, and the baby. What's best is for us to decide. If people don't like it, that's not our problem." Her stomach growls, and he lets go of her hands. "Oops. Better feed the kiddo."

As she laughs and begins spinning more pasta around her fork, a memory from nearly a year ago suddenly forms in her head: her father, sitting across from her in a diner, saying that he would like grandchildren to be a part of his retirement. A dull, familiar ache weighs down her heart. She pauses. Tony does, too. "Ziva," he sighs softly. "Are you okay?"

"Yes." Her fettuccine suddenly looks like a mountain to be scaled rather than food to be enjoyed, and she slouches down in her seat. "It's just… my father. He would have been excited about this."

"Really? I'm having a hard time imagining Grandpa Eli shipping lollipops and stuffed animals over from Israel."

Ziva shrugs. "Like you said, we are not normal people. Neither was he. I do believe that he wanted to change, though. A grandchild may have been the second chance he needed to do right by his family." Tears well up in her eyes, and she swipes at them, embarrassed. It has been months since she has cried over her father. Whether or not it's true, she chooses to believe that hormones are the only reason she is crumbling now. "I wish he were here to try."

In one quick movement, Tony vacates his side of the booth and slides in next to her. She puts her head on his chest, and his arm goes around her, holding her close. As always, he is her rock; she wonders, not for the first time, what on earth she would do without him.

"If it helps," he says after a few moments, his lips moving against the top of her head, "I doubt he would have been too happy about me being the father."

She chuckles weakly. "He would have come around."

"You think?"

Ziva recalls all of the conflicts that have ensued between Mossad and NCIS over the years, especially the debacle involving Tony, Michael Rivkin, and herself. "It may have taken a while," she concedes. She pushes away from him so she can look into his face. "But _I_ am glad the baby is yours, and I think that would have been enough for him."

He smiles at her, and she smiles back, and then he tugs his plate over so that they can finish eating without leaving each other's side.


	6. Chapter 6

_April_

"This is the last of it." Ziva enters her guest room with a couple of shopping bags hanging off her wrist. Wincing slightly, she presses a hand into the small of her back. "Does that look like it will be difficult to assemble?"

"Not really," he says from his spot on the floor, instructions and crib parts spread out around him. "I told you I would bring everything up."

"There were only some clothes left, Tony."

"But you had to climb stairs to get back to the car. And now your back hurts."

Stuck in her stubborn ways, even in the third trimester of pregnancy, Ziva turns up her nose and opts to ignore him rather than admit to any sort of physical weakness. She goes over to the baby's dresser and upends her bags, depositing a bunch of pastel-colored onesies on top of it. "We still need some supplies, diapers and things, but as far as the room goes, I think we are set."

The dresser is a spare one Tony had; everything else is brand new, just purchased today. Neither of them had any idea that babies came with so much equipment, and never has so much money flown out of his bank account at once. Now, an hour after finally managing to escape the store, they have bags and boxes strewn about the soon-to-be nursery in a state of organized chaos.

Well- maybe just chaos.

Tony gets to his feet and walks over to Ziva. Gently, he takes away the onesie she is folding. "Go take a nap," he urges. "I've got this."

"I do not need a nap."

"Then watch TV. Read a book. Just get off your feet for a while."

She appears ready to argue, but, by some miraculous twist of fate, shuts her mouth and slumps her shoulders in submission. "I suppose I should take advantage of what time I have left before becoming a single mother."

Tony looks at her, startled. "What?"

"I am not going to get much sleep after the baby comes," she says matter-of-factly, running a hand over her swollen belly.

It's the use of the phrase _single mother _that bothers him. Yes, he supposes, she is single, and she is going to be a mother- but when he hears 'single mother', he thinks of women who have been abandoned and left to fend for themselves by their deadbeat boyfriends. He'll be damned if he's going to let Ziva think that she is alone in this.

"I'm gonna be here to help," he tells her.

She smiles in a somewhat condescending manner. "Not at night. That is where I will lose my sleep."

Tony looks down at his partner, standing there in her yoga pants and loose maternity shirt, hair pulled back, not a trace of makeup on her face. As always, she is capable; of course she is. He has never doubted her in anything, and he certainly doesn't doubt her now.

Even so, he hates the thought of her getting up several times a night to calm _their_ baby while he sleeps soundly in his own apartment. She doesn't _need_ him for anything, but maybe she'll want him- and, stuck on this hope, he blurts out, "I can move in here."

Ziva's eyebrows climb up her forehead. "What?"

"I'll sleep on an air mattress in the living room or something. We can take turns getting the baby in the middle of the night, and we won't have to worry about trading her off, because we'll both live here."

She shakes her head, unconvinced. "I do not know about that, Tony."

"I'm not gonna try and push anything," he persists. One of his hands moves across her stomach of its own accord. Ziva does not swat him away; she is always willing to let him bond with the baby however he can. Before she got pregnant, she never would have let him touch her as much as he does these days. "With you and me, I mean. I just want to make sure the burden doesn't all fall on you, and… and I want to be with my munchkin."

As if she knows that she is being discussed, the baby kicks against his hand. Tony grins, and Ziva laughs softly. She gives her belly a pensive glance. "I suppose it would not hurt to try," she finally concedes. "Especially at the beginning, it will be nice to have you here."

He feels like cheering, but restrains himself. "It'll be great," he assures her before spinning her toward the door. "Now go relax. After I get this room put together, I'll take you out for dinner and we can discuss what you're gonna get rid of to accommodate my much cooler stuff."

Based on her snort of derision, he'll be the one donating to Goodwill. That's okay. Material things aren't much of a sacrifice when his reward is to be some semblance of a family.

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These past few months have not been the easiest for Ziva and himself. Work, especially, has been taxing. For a good while after they heard the news, their teammates did a spectacularly terrible job of butting out. Abby gave them articles with titles like "Messy Love: Is It Worth It?" (The author's answer was, of course, yes.) Palmer kept recommending a minister friend of his to conduct a wedding, should they decide to have one. Gibbs became even shorter than usual and made little effort to hide his annoyance at them for breaking rule twelve- and, as if that weren't bad enough, breaking it without protection.

The day he banned Ziva from the field was the low point. He had just ordered them to grab her gear, but when she stood up, he pointed his fiinger. "Not you."

Predictably, she argued. He fixed her with a withering glare, but it failed to silence her, so he argued back while Tony and McGee stood by anxiously. By the time Ziva stormed off in tears, other agents were staring. Gibbs watched her until she disappeared around the corner, then heaved a sigh. "McGee, with me. DiNozzo, meet us at the car after you check on her."

In the women's restroom, she waved him off. "He is right," she conceded, leaning back against the sink and resting her crossed arms atop her fifth month bump. "I would not be useful in an emergency. You go ahead, Tony. I will see you later."

He stepped backwards, keeping his eyes on hers. "It's not about work. He's concerned for your safety, not your usefulness."

"Well, I am not a child. I do not need Gibbs to tell me what I am and am not capable of," Ziva fired back. Tony slipped his hands into his pockets, unsure what to tell her. She was right, of course, but he wasn't about to go pick a fight with the boss man over it. That would only serve to infect this open wound.

"He's just worried," Tony defended finally, and Ziva scoffed. He leaned over to kiss her on the forehead. She didn't push him away, but she also made no move to get closer. He took that as his cue to leave. "We'll call you from the crime scene."

Her answering nod was accompanied by a quivering lip. All he wanted to do was hold her, comfort her, but he knew she would not let him. Going against all of his instincts, he turned his back on her and left.

The awkwardness between them and Gibbs began to ebb after a couple of days; on the third, Tony witnessed Ziva and their fearless leader talking over by the stairs. He was unable to read their lips, but Gibbs gave her a hug before going up to see Vance. Since then, there has been only the occasional butting of heads.

Despite all that is going on, he has been experiencing a strange phenomenon completely new to him- happiness. Never has he had so much of it in such a steady manner. And sure, sure, there are things he would like to change- namely, his relationship status with Ziva- but those can be overlooked for now. Because he, Tony DiNozzo, is about to become a father. Instead of watching ESPN when he gets home from work, he reads parenting books. On his bedside table is a little stuffed kitten, which he bought right after finding out that the baby is a girl. He spends a lot of time at Ziva's apartment, talking to her stomach and flipping through lists of names and theorizing about what their daughter will be like. Even on his worst days, when his worries and anxieties about being a parent seem almost too much to handle, the thought of a pink-faced baby with Ziva's eyes makes him smile.

His partner is similarly plagued with self-doubt; outside the realm of her career and physical altercations, she has never had much faith in herself. Tony knows better. He has seen her interact with children many times over the years, and he is always appalled at how easily she speaks with them, how quickly they warm up to her. She's a natural. If _she_ doesn't know what she's doing, he may as well kiss his ass goodbye.

When he takes a break from working on the nursery, they sit on opposite sides of the couch, feet overlapping in the middle, and he tells her this. His intention is to reassure her, but Ziva laughs softly and turns it back on him. "You are going to be fine."

"I hope so," he confesses. "I don't exactly have the best example to go off of."

Letting her head fall onto the armrest behind her, she taps his ankle. "We can learn from the mistakes our parents made. They may not have taught us a lot of what _to_ do, but we know of many things that should be avoided."

Tony snorts into his glass of water.

"I'm serious! With the way that we grew up, I think we understand how important it is that our child feels unconditionally supported and loved. We will mess up many times, I am sure. But at the end of the day, we will give her a hug and a kiss and everything will turn out alright."

He smiles, both at the picture she paints in his head and her continued use of the word _we_. It occurs to him that his entire universe is currently situated right here on this couch.

"You're really gonna let me move in here?" he asks.

"Yes, I am." Ziva extends her leg and playfully pokes him in the gut with her big toe. "Do not annoy me, or make my bathroom smell bad, or do anything else that will cause me to regret it."

His jaw drops in faux indignation. "Make your bathroom smell bad? Why, does mine?"

She shrugs, a teasing grin pulling at the corners of her lips. "Not horribly so, but some potpourri wouldn't hurt."

"Is the potpourri provided at Casa David?"

"Only for the first month," she quips. "Then it is up to you to mask the scent."

"Fair enough." After another sip of water, he decides that it is time to resume work. He stands, then grabs Ziva's outstretched hands and helps her up, too. She staggers a bit, colliding with his front. For a long, blessed moment, he can feel her curves, the arc of her belly, and her breath, hot on his neck as she peers up at him. And hell, yeah, he's going to abandon all reason and kiss her, because that's the only thing he knows to do.

A firm hand on his chest grounds him. Ziva gives such a slight shake of her head that he wonders if he is imagining it; then she is gone, hurrying into the kitchen, leaving him alone and somewhat dizzy.


	7. Chapter 7

**Due to this chapter, this story now has an M rating. It's not terribly graphic, but please do be aware that there's going to be (just a little bit of) naughtiness here, and read responsibly. Thanks!**

Most days, she would have already left for work by now.

Instead, she stands next to the open front door, staring in the general direction of her bathroom. The shower shut off a few minutes ago, but she can hear the sink running. Tony, as usual, has been in there for quite a while. In the mere week that he's been living here, Ziva has already learned that she has to get into the bathroom first if she wants to be ready on time.

"Your hair looks fine," she yells. "We're going to be late. Come on."

"For your information, I'm brushing my teeth."

Ziva rolls her eyes. "Whatever. Just do it faster."

The water stops. At long last, he emerges, and she is relieved to see that he is already fully dressed. "Have you seen my backpack?"

"Right here." She nods toward the floor next to her, then steps out into the hall. A second later, he joins her. "Ready?"

"I was _born_ ready."

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes again- because despite whatever the movie he just quoted has to say, he definitely was _not_ born ready- Ziva locks her front door and starts toward the staircase. Tony silently moves her bag off her shoulder. She straightens her arm so he can slide it down. "There is not anything heavy in there," she tells him. "I can carry it."

"I know you _can_," he says. "But you shouldn't have to."

Chivalrous gestures such as this irritate Ziva when they give the impression of being condescending, as if she is a pet or a child, incapable of taking care of herself. Tony is not like that. He is simply trying to make up for the pregnancy he cannot physically participate in by relieving her of additional burdens, small as they may be. That, she can appreciate.

Driving separately to the same destination doesn't make sense now that they live together, and Tony refuses to be her passenger, so she (grudgingly) has agreed to be his. He moseys along at five miles over the speed limit. The leisurely pace, coupled with his incessant changing of the radio station, is getting on her nerves. Matters are not helped by her inability to find a comfortable sitting position. The seatbelt is barely long enough to cross over her and the baby's feet are in her ribs. She shifts and turns and maneuvers for nearly five minutes before frustration boils over. "This is ridiculous!"

Tony takes his hand off the radio dial and turns the volume down instead. At least she can be thankful for that. "What's wrong? Is there anything I can do?"

"Perhaps go back in time and buy some damn condoms," she snaps as she slumps in her seat, defeated, and stares moodily through the windshield.

He glides into the fast lane and steps on the gas. They breeze past a puttering semi-truck; once they have pulled back out in front of it, he reaches over the console to grab her hand. Ziva lets him run his thumb across her knuckles. If she were a less practical person, she would believe that there is magic at work here. How else can she explain the way his light touch immediately relaxes her?

"I really am sorry you're so miserable," he says after another minute or so of listening to the air rush by outside.

She shrugs. The urge to blame him has left just as suddenly as it came. Really, she had no business doing so in the first place; both of them made the mistake, and not once has he shied away from responsibility in the matter. The nursery, now finished and waiting patiently for its occupant, was Tony's project. Much of his energy goes into ensuring that Ziva is taken care of. Sometimes, she is struck by disbelief that out of every man in the world, she is lucky enough to have _him _as her partner, her best friend, and the father of her child.

"It will be worth all the trouble," Ziva assures him. "In five weeks, we will meet our daughter, and nothing else will matter."

"Are you scared?" he asks bluntly.

"I think all expectant parents are."

"No, I know we're both freaked out about the baby." He draws his lower lip between his teeth. His grip on her hand tightens; she isn't entirely sure he realizes it. "I meant, of the labor."

"Oh." Considering what she has learned from books and websites, she flashes forward to the experience that awaits her: contractions, epidurals, blood. She knows it will not be pleasant, but she can handle pain. The idea of being heavily depended on by a tiny, innocent child- that is what terrifies her. "Honestly, I am not too worried about it."

A car comes out of nowhere and cuts them off. Tony slams on the brakes, swearing under his breath, and gently disentangles his fingers from hers so that he can keep both hands on the steering wheel. Missing the warmth of his palm, Ziva takes her arm back and folds it over her stomach. "Ass," Tony mutters as the car takes off down the highway at what has to be ninety miles an hour. (Ziva would know.) With the danger averted, he sits back in his seat. "I'm nervous. About seeing you go through that."

His face is twisted into that concerned expression that she hates so much, because she is usually the one to put it there. Tony's protectiveness has been a point of contention between them on more than one occasion. She does not need a bodyguard; she does not need him hovering over her shoulder, making sure she is safe.

But, as she tries to remind herself, he cares. That is all. He cares for her in a way nobody else ever has, and even after nine years as his partner, she is still getting used to that.

It is Ziva's turn to offer comfort. She is not good at it, never has been, but she knows that she must try. She reaches over and lightly squeezes his forearm. "You do not need to worry about me, Tony."

"I'm going to anyway. I can't help it."

She pauses. "Yes," she admits. "I know."

"I picture you in pain, and I just…" He trails off, shaking his head. "I'll probably need a sedative or something. How are you so calm about it?"

Over the years, Ziva has sustained many injuries. She has been tortured, raped. Stabbed. Shot. Childbirth does not seem any more formidable than these. That is not the thing to tell Tony, though; he will start thinking about all that she has survived, all he could not save her from, and become upset. So she falls back on the other reason- perhaps it is the main one- that she is not afraid.

"_Ani lo levad_," she says. He jerks his head around to look at her, taken aback, because he understands, of course. She is merely echoing- accepting- what he told her after her father's death. _I am not alone_.

Tony smiles widely at her. And there is nothing for her to do but smile back.

0000000000

Lately, Ziva has spent a lot of time singing to her baby. She did not make a conscious decision to do this; it is not part of some early music education regimen. One day while she was home alone, she began humming a Bruno Mars song to herself, and the baby chose that moment to start kicking. Ziva added the words in response; she went right through the song, then another one, before reclining on the couch with both hands on her belly, overwhelmed with affection for the tiny life inside her. Ever since, she has been singing every time there is nobody else around. Her repertoire includes a few modern American numbers, but mostly, she resorts to Hebrew and Arabic lullabies. Ziva really has no idea whether or not outside sound reaches the womb. She likes to think that it does, though, and that her baby will enter the world already familiar with the same words and intonations that Ziva used to fall asleep to.

Her showers typically only last long enough for a couple of songs- big as she is now, she does not enjoy standing up for any extended period of time. She washes her hair and torso, and then, since bending over is essentially out of the question, she squirts a glob of body wash onto her stomach and lets the water carry it down to her waist, legs and feet. This does not make her feel nearly as clean as she would like; it bothers her quite a bit. In fact, she is embarrassed at how excited she is to return home from the hospital next month and have a long, hot shower in which she is able to scrub her skin thoroughly. And shave her legs.

Ziva's song trails off into a hum as she decides it is time to get out. They need to leave for work in forty-five minutes, and Tony has yet to do anything but stumble into the kitchen and make toast. She turns off the water. Cold air immediately hits her; shivering, she moves the shower curtain aside and grabs her towel. She slips it beneath her armpits. It billows out over her stomach, exposing everything below her breasts. Were she still living alone, this would not matter at all; however, she has to walk a good ten feet down the hall to her room. An open towel will not suffice when Tony could be anywhere.

She steps out of the tub and hangs the towel on the rack, then opens the cabinet in search of a bigger one. Nothing is folded, she notes grumpily; if she is going to continue to let Tony help her with laundry, he will need a lesson on how to put things away. She pulls out the largest towel she can find and sets it on the counter, then starts organizing her linens. She is still standing there with not a stitch of clothing on when the door opens and Tony enters.

"Whoa," he says; in the next second, he has returned to the hall, slamming the door shut behind him. As a reflex, Ziva grabs her towel and wraps it around herself. There is no point; the damage is done. That really did just happen.

A year ago, this might not have been a big deal. The first time they saw each other naked was mere weeks after meeting, and over the years, stakeouts and missions have forced them to change in close quarters. And, of course, there was the night last September when they slept together- the night that led to her looking the way she does now: bulging stomach, engorged breasts, unshaven legs, softness in her thighs. Fear that she has put him in a state of disgust seizes her heart while her face heats with shame, and she internally curses herself for caring so much.

Putting on a brave face, Ziva makes sure everything is covered by the towel, raises her chin, and steps out of the bathroom. Tony is leaning against the wall. Their eyes meet briefly before he fixes his gaze at a point past her shoulder.

_ He cannot even look at me._

"I'm sorry," he says. "I heard the water go off a few minutes ago, so I thought you'd already gone to your room to get dressed. I should have knocked."

"Yes, you should have. But it's okay." She feels her jaw beginning to shake and knows that she has to escape. "I am done now. Go ahead."

As she turns away, he catches her arm. She tries to shake him off, but his grip is firm, and he doesn't let go even when he moves to block her path. "What's wrong?" he asks softly, just as a tear falls down her cheek. His question is valid. What _is_ wrong with her? "Ziva. Why are you crying?"

"Leave me alone, Tony."

"No," he says, and she stares at him, stunned. "No. Tell me what's the matter."

Ziva steps backwards with every intention of resisting, but he comes forward, moving into her personal space. With his free hand, he palms her cheek, angling her head upward so that she has to look at him. And there is such sincerity etched into his features, such concern, that her defenses crumble and she finds herself giving in.

"You saw what I look like now," she chokes out on a strangled sob. "Why do you even need to ask? I am fat. I am hideous. And you _saw_."

Tony shakes his head. "You are neither of those things," he insists. His hands move down to her hips and squeeze lightly. "You're pregnant, and you're beautiful."

She wants to believe him, but she cannot quite bring herself to that point. Not even when his forehead falls against hers. Not even when he backs her carefully into the wall. Then she feels him cradle her belly with a tenderness that brings more tears to her eyes, and his lips ghost across her cheek, and she is almost there.

Tony continues his timid exploration of her body, watching her closely the whole time. They are toeing a dangerous line here, and Ziva is fully aware of it- and yet, she allows him to slip his hand beneath the edge of her towel and press his warm palm against her abdomen. She leans up to kiss the corner of his mouth. He breathes out heavily, turns his head, and draws her into a longer, desperate kiss, while his fingers trail over her breasts en route to the knot in her towel.

"Okay?" he checks, asking for permission before he bares her again.

She squeezes her eyes shut tight for one second, two. Then she meets his smoldering gaze, and her insecurities suddenly seem a thousand miles away. In a strong, assured voice, she says, "Yes."

The towel falls to the floor.

Naked and pregnant and vulnerable, she stands before him. He stares at her; briefly, she panics. Then his mouth is trailing down her neck, over her breasts and abdomen, then moving back up her body. Ziva revels in his kisses and caresses. It is only when his fingers slip between her legs that she tugs at his hair in protest. "Tony, we can't do that now. We are going to be late for work."

"I want to make you feel the way I see you," he tells her, and gives her a long stroke that makes her gasp. "Let me help you, Ziva."

From the clock behind him, she knows that it is nearing seven. She should say no. She should make him stop.

"Okay," she says, and releases a small moan when he rubs her in just the right spot.

With her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, she burrows her face in his neck as tremors of pleasure weaken her knees. He has an extraordinary memory; he knows just where she likes to be touched, and at what pace, and for how long. It does not take much time at all for Ziva to start begging for it, fisting his shirt and chanting _please please please, more more more._

And when she does come, Tony holds her tightly. She jerks violently in his arms while he whispers in her ear, again and again, "You're beautiful, Ziva. You're beautiful. My God, you're so beautiful."

And even when she has descended from the high, she believes it.


	8. Chapter 8

"The news is starting," Ziva yells.

"Coming." Tony shoves a bag of potato chips under his arm, then grabs both of their plates and heads into the living room. He balances hers on her stomach before sinking onto the couch beside her, their shoulders pressed together. Ziva grabs her sandwich as the news anchors on TV begin discussing budget cuts in a nearby school district. "Snore."

"In a few years, things like that will affect us," she points out.

"Guess so." Still, he yawns during the superintendent's interview and completely zones out while the reporter is talking to parents. Ziva strains for the chips where he tossed them on the coffee table. He nudges her. "Hold on. I got 'em."

"Thank you."

Tony shakes a pile onto her plate before treating himself to a generous helping. The weatherman is now onscreen, standing in front of a five-day forecast proclaiming sunny skies and temperatures in the seventies for the week to come. "Hey, look at that."

"I love Washington early in the summer," she says. This is not new information to him, of course, but he doesn't tell her that. Since their encounter in the hallway this morning, she has been in a mood much more pleasant than the ones he has come to expect from her. It makes him think that maybe he should have offered to help her out sooner, but hell, even after she let him undo her towel today, he kept half-expecting to be shoved aside. He would have been a fool to ask out of nowhere.

"Me too. Wonder if the Nats are in town."

"Are you going to try and convert McGee into a sports fan again?"

"If he would just come to a game with me-"

"He would be bored out of his head."

Tony makes a face at her, and she laughs, tossing a couple of chips in her mouth. He loves this. He loves this easy banter; he loves this habit they've developed of eating dinner on the couch during the six o'clock news. He loves that despite what happened between them, things are not awkward, as he'd feared they would be. Ziva has not yet felt the need to have a discussion about Why This Is Not A Good Idea. She is his best friend and he is hers and they're going to be parents soon, and sure, the whole situation looks dysfunctional from the outside, but he couldn't care less. As long as she's sitting beside him, everything is fine.

They finish eating during the news and stay put to watch the sitcom that comes on afterwards. Ziva's head lolls onto his shoulder. When the baby starts moving, she hikes up her shirt and lets him feel, and they spend an eternity huddled over her belly, real laughter drowning out that of the TV audience.

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As May turns into June, Tony's excitement and mild anxiety, both of which he has been harboring for quite a while, morph into full-fledged panic. The calendar next to Ziva's fridge now bears the name of the month in which their child will be born; the twenty-second is circled in bright red ink. Every time he enters the kitchen, he makes a concentrated effort to avoid looking over there. Sometimes he does so by accident, and his heart seizes; it's the same thing that happens when he walks by the nursery or sees the brand new bottles lined up neatly on the counter.

He jerks awake one night to find Ziva standing over his air mattress, face twisted in concern. His heart is pounding; a faint, sweaty stench is coming off of his own body. While he struggles to get his bearings, his dream fades away, and he no longer knows what it was about.

But he can still hear the baby's scream.

"You were yelling," Ziva says after several seconds. Carefully maneuvering her heavily pregnant self, she sits down on the floor and lightly touches his cheek. "I have never known you to have nightmares."

"Doesn't happen too often," he manages. He closes his eyes and focuses on the warmth of her palm. "Last time was, uh…"

She seems to understand why he trails off. For that, he is grateful. "Shh," she orders softly. Her fingers comb through his hair, chasing the images of Somalia from his mind and bringing him back to the here, the now. He cannot remember the last time he let anyone- even Ziva, his closest friend- see him in such a vulnerable state. Usually he is in senior field agent mode, ready to be everyone else's protector. That's who he is. That's his comfort zone.

He could easily create a new comfort zone in the confines of Ziva's living room, though. Just as long as she is here too.

Tony turns onto his side to look at her properly. She gives him a reassuring smile. "Are you okay now?"

"Yeah." He is close enough to her that when he releases a breath, strands of hair flutter away from her collarbone. His eyes drift down to her stomach, which isn't quite contained by the tank top she has on. A tiny snippet of his dream comes rushing back. There is no context, but he doesn't really need any, nor does he want it- the image of a red-faced baby glaring at him is more than enough. "Two weeks, huh?"

"Just about." Ziva leans forward and rests her chin on the edge of the mattress, looking up at him with sleepy eyes. "I can tell you've been getting nervous."

_ Nervous_ is such an understatement that he almost laughs. "Aren't you?"

"A bit. Well, yes, more than a bit. But I am tired of being pregnant; mostly, I just want her to be born already." She finds his hand under the covers and squeezes reassuringly. "Try to relax, Tony. Your capability as a father is the least of my concerns. I know you will be amazing."

He does not possess that kind of faith in himself, but he _does_ trust her instincts, has been saved by them many times, and he supposes that's just as well. Pulsing her hand in return, he murmurs his thanks. They exchange a long look, the close proximity of their eyes and noses and lips only serving to intensify the moment. When he doesn't think he can stand the silence any longer, Tony clears his throat. "Go back to bed, Ziva. You look tired."

She nods, covering her mouth to stifle a yawn. He pushes himself up on one hand as she gets to her feet, and then she lets him repeat the bedtime routine they already performed once tonight, in which he drops a big kiss onto her belly. "G'night, Isabella." When he pulls back, he peeks up at Ziva. "You still like that name?"

"Yes," she says. "Very much."

So does he.

0000000000

At ten the next morning, while he is pecking away at his keyboard and half-listening to Gibbs reminding Ziva that she can begin her leave anytime she wants and Ziva acting affronted by the suggestion that she shouldn't be at work, Tony's phone buzzes with an incoming text. He raises his eyebrows when he sees that it's from Gary, a college buddy he hasn't seen in at least a year.

_ Nats/Reds game Sat., coming to D.C. with Chris and Scott tomorrow. You up for a drink or nine?_

Tony taps his fingers against the screen, contemplating. Reliving the old days with these guys is always fun, but he isn't sure that he's up for it this weekend. There's a lot going on, and there will be a lot to explain when he inevitably ends up telling his friends about Ziva and the baby. He can already hear the bemused questions: _you've been hung up on this girl for _how _long, DiNozzo? You're living with her but you're not together? What the hell are you doing? _They won't understand any more than his coworkers do. An evening in their company sounds like a long one.

In the end, he doesn't have much of a choice in the matter. Ziva forces him to go, whether he truly wants to or not. "You're hovering over me," she says. "You are tense. You need a night out. Who knows when you will get another once the baby is here?" He doesn't put up any real fight; pregnant though she is, he doesn't doubt for a second that she is still fully capable of kicking his ass.

So when she practically shoves him out their front door before shutting and locking it, Tony admits defeat and, not having anything else to do, heads for the downtown bar. At eighteen hundred hours on a Friday night, there aren't too many people there yet. Scott and his trademark Cubs hat stand out in the sparse crowd. His friends notice him when he gets within a few feet of their table, and there is a rush of greetings and handshakes and pats on the back. They want to know why he's half an hour late. He says that he got held up at work, which is a lie; he was at home with Ziva, but he is definitely not bringing her up until he gets some alcohol in his system.

For a while, Tony catches up on their lives (and divulges some trivial, non-controversial things about his), participates in a heated discussion about the Cleveland Indians, and laughs way too hard when Chris brings up the time they stayed out all night stringing toilet paper across the OSU campus. Ziva was right; coming here was a good idea. He's having fun. The tension that has been building up in him for weeks, maybe even months, is uncoiling a little bit more with every sip of his beer.

The bar is beginning to fill up by the time Gary off-handedly asks, "How's your partner doin'?"

"Ziv-aaaah," Scott drawls, not unlike the way Tony sometimes says her name, and the others laugh. "Yeah, DiNozzo, you've barely said a word about her. Usually everything coming out of your mouth is Ziva this and Ziva that."

Tony rolls his eyes. "That's an exaggeration." Only slightly, though- not nearly as much as he'd like to think. "But she's, uh, she's good. Actually, she's… she's having a baby soon."

There. It's out. He watches as his friends' jaws drop in tandem.

"No way."

"With who?"

"I kept telling you to make a move, man." Gary shakes his head sadly. "You can't afford to wait around when it comes to women. If you don't grow a pair, they'll find somebody else. Did she marry him?"

"No," Tony says carefully. "She's… single. The baby is mine."

Stares and silence- basically, what he would expect from a group of people who followed the traditional progression of dating, _then_ marriage, _then_ having kids.

At long last, Chris speaks. "Holy _shit_."

"We've been here for, like, two hours, and you just now thought to mention that?" Gary is incredulous. Tony grabs his beer and takes a huge gulp in anticipation of the conversation to follow. "I mean, hell. How did that even happen?"

With his lips loosened by alcohol, Tony gives up the story fairly easily. He admits that a bit too much wine was consumed on the night they slept together, and he tries his best to explain their current arrangement. Incredulous expressions are frozen on his friends' faces. Eventually, he stops in the middle of a sentence and slumps back in his chair. They don't understand. That's okay. Neither does anybody else.

"You know something's gonna have to give, right?" Gary asks, his natural brazenness giving way to genuine concern. "At some point this is gonna end. You can't spend eighteen years living together without _being_ together."

"I know." Truth be told, he's spent a lot of time trying not to think about that. He and Ziva do seem to be progressing toward something, but what if they never get there? She could meet anyone, any day of the week. A witness to a crime. A man in a coffee shop. In the blink of an eye, she could be gone. "We're just gonna try this, see how it works out for us."

Whistling under his breath, Chris pushes back his chair. "You're a braver man than me," he says as he stands, then adds, "I'm gonna run to the bathroom."

Gary gets up, too. "That waitress hasn't been back in a while. I'm going to get my drink from the bar. You guys want anything?"

Tony puts in a request for another beer. Scott just shakes his head and stares at the one he already has. He doesn't look up until the others leave. "DiNozzo," he says urgently, and Tony, caught off guard by the sudden change in his friend's demeanor, raises his eyebrows to show that he is listening. "I gotta tell you something. Those guys don't know yet, but you need to hear it."

He has no idea what Scott, a guy he only sees every year or so, would need to say to him in private, so he just nods and waits.

"Jesse. My youngest. About a month ago, he was diagnosed with leukemia. They caught it early, so his chances are good, but it's still awful. Awful."

Tony stares at his friend, trying to picture the kid. He remembers seeing a picture of him on Facebook a while back. He's four, maybe? Five? The mere thought of someone that young battling cancer makes his stomach turn over. "What are you doing here, then?" he asks.

Scott sighs. "Melinda wanted me to come. We've had this trip planned for a long time, and Jesse's been feeling good this week, so she insisted I go try to have fun. I'm not, though. I mean, maybe I forget about it for a few minutes at a time, but then I remember and I just want to go home." He hikes his baseball cap up so that the shadow disappears from his face. "Look. This thing with you and Ziva… a month ago, I would've called you guys crazy. Hell, you probably are. But now that there's a possibility I could lose my son, I say you should do whatever it takes to be with your kid. So, you know… when people start telling you how insane this is, ignore them, 'cause anything is better than waking up one day and realizing that you haven't made the most of your time together."

Tears are welling in his eyes. Tony watches as he raises his beer to his lips for a long, long time. When he finally plunks the bottle back down, he flashes Tony a quick, humorless smile. "Anyway. There's my fatherly advice to you."

"I'm sorry to hear about Jesse."

"He's tough. We think he's gonna pull through."

Tony nods, hoping that he's right, even sending up a quick prayer- a measure he usually saves for the most desperate of times. They don't speak again until Chris returns from the bathroom and Gary returns with the drinks, and Scott immediately resumes his cheerful façade. Tony isn't quite so successful at acting normal. For the rest of the evening, he can hardly swallow around the lump in his throat, and he doesn't quite breathe again until he gets home and finds that everything is fine.


	9. Chapter 9

"I can't believe you're here," Tony gripes as he follows Ziva into the elevator and pushes the button for their floor. The doors slide shut. "Vance told me I could start my leave, too. We both could've stayed home."

Ziva is very, _very_ tired of others offering their unwarranted opinions on when she should begin her maternity leave. She knows they are only concerned, and she has made an especially concentrated effort not to snap at Tony, but she is down to her last nerve. "I am not going to lay in bed waiting for my water to break," she fires at him. "If _you_ would like to go home and wait for my water to break, feel free."

He makes a vague noise of frustration, but doesn't bother arguing further. Ziva leans against the railing. Her back is killing her. Lying down wouldn't actually be the worst thing in the world right now. There's no way she can admit that, though; not after the way she yelled this morning when she awoke to find Tony next to the bed, trying to disable her alarm clock.

The elevator comes to a halt and opens to the bullpen. Ziva pushes away from the wall and falls into step beside Tony, whose hand automatically goes to the small of her back- that's how she knows that she is forgiven for her stubbornness. As they head for their desks, she blinks, surprised, at the sight of everyone- Gibbs, McGee, Abby, Ducky and Palmer- gathered around her desk. "What is going on?"

"Dunno."

Their teammates are having a conversation about something and don't notice Tony and Ziva until they come right up next to the cubicle. "You guys!" Abby exclaims. "You're here! Gibbs didn't know if you were going to come."

"Queen Ziva thinks that coming to work two days before her due date is a foolproof plan," Tony says dryly, and she jabs her elbow into his ribs.

"I'm glad she came! Otherwise we would have had to take the party to your apartment." Abby pulls Ziva into a hug, refusing to allow her large stomach to be a deterrent. Only then, over her friend's shoulder, does Ziva notice the gifts piled on the edge of her desk beside a quarter sheet cake reading _Congratulations Tony and Ziva._ "Sorry it's last minute. We didn't mean to wait so long. McGee kept forgetting to order the cake."

This is met with an eye roll from the accused. He opens his mouth defiantly, but Ziva flashes him a smile. She could not care less about the timing. Late or not, she is so grateful. "McGee, thank you. It looks lovely."

Tony helps her into her desk chair, then pulls his own over to sit beside her. Ducky cuts everybody a slice of cake. As they eat, Tony and Ziva unwrap pacifiers and bibs and tiny outfits. A package that is marked as being from everybody contains a silk blanket with a cursive _D _embroidered on it. Ziva drapes it over her arm while Tony delicately traces the letter with his finger.

"We didn't know what her last name was going to be," explains Palmer eagerly. Several weeks ago, he and Breena were matched with a baby boy up for adoption; since then, he has taken new interest in Tony and Ziva's own pending parenthood. "But we didn't figure it mattered, since your names start with the same letter anyway. Do you like it?"

"It is beautiful," she tells him. Then, with a sideways glance at Tony, she adds, "And, for the record, she is a DiNozzo."

He raises his eyes from the blanket to her, somewhat taken aback. Then he wraps his entire hand around her arm and squeezes gently in what she recognizes as a gesture of appreciation.

Not a whole lot of work gets done that morning; only when Vance stands at the top of the stairs and shoots them a warning look does the leftover cake get put away, the gifts stowed beneath Ziva's desk, and the ribbon tossed in the trash. Ducky, Palmer, and Abby head back downstairs. Tony and McGee pull case files up on the plasma. As Ziva is about to double check on some records, Gibbs comes and leans over the back of her chair. She looks at him curiously. He was the only one who did not have a gift, and while she isn't particularly hurt or offended- she has a _very_ hard time picturing Gibbs shopping for baby supplies- she is wondering why he didn't even try. It could be some sort of passive-aggressive retribution for this entire messy situation, but she cannot bring herself to think that he would be so juvenile. She innocently tilts her head at him. "What is it?"

"Just lettin' you know that when you two get home from the hospital, there'll be a rocking chair in the nursery."

Her shoulders slump in relief, and she feels small for expecting something sordid of him, however briefly. "Thank you, Gibbs."

"No problem." He strokes her hair once before pressing his lips against her temple. "Happy for you two."

She smiles at him, and he returns it briefly before going back to his desk. Staring, uncomprehending, at her computer screen, she quickly thanks God or the universe or whoever is listening for this family she somehow, against all odds and with enormous luck, stumbled her way into.

0000000000

By that afternoon, Ziva's back pain and general discomfort, neither of which are helped by her straight-backed desk chair, force her to go ahead and begin her leave. Her request for Tony to drive her home comes out as a grumble. His reply is all sympathy and concern, devoid of teasing, but she can tell he's trying not to laugh.

With her backpack over her shoulder, she steps out from behind her desk so that he can take her place. She spends a few seconds quietly watching as he stuffs the baby's gifts into his own bag. Ultimately, she cannot stifle her irritation with him. "This is your fault, you know."

Tony pauses, a bundle of cloth in hand, and raises his eyebrows at her. "Really."

"Yes."

"_I_ said, 'let me go to the store and get condoms'. And _you_ said, 'no, we're fine, just put it in.'"

Behind him, Ziva sees both Gibbs and McGee snap their heads up. Their boss looks disgusted; their teammate, paler than usual. Seeming to remember that they have an audience, Tony clears his throat awkwardly. A blush tinges his face. "Sorry."

"Just get out of here," Gibbs says, tossing his empty coffee cup in the trash and stalking off in the direction of the break room. He shakes his head, hard, as if that will make him forget what he just heard. "Jeez."

McGee gets to his feet slowly. "Um, I'm going to go ask Abby something. You guys, uh, have fun. With your baby. And all that. See you… see you."

Then he is gone, too, leaving Tony and Ziva alone. Suddenly, she is far less reluctant to leave; in fact, the quicker they can get out of here, the better. Tony zips up his backpack and slings it over his shoulder. "Alright, I'm ready."

"I doubt McGee will ever look either of us in the eye again."

"You've been here for what, eight years? Nine? He should be used to it by now."

His hand settles in the space between her shoulder blades as she leads the way to the elevator. Just as she is about to hit the down button, the doors slide open and another team of agents piles out. Tony and Ziva stand off to the side and nod politely at their acquaintances. Once the elevator car has emptied, Tony gestures toward it. "Go ahead."

Ziva takes one step, then freezes as a sudden surge of wetness pools between her legs and dribbles down the inside of her thigh. She stares at Tony's furrowed brow, fully aware of what has just happened but not wanting to admit it yet.

"Ziva?" he asks, and still she says nothing. He grabs her elbow. "Ziva. What's the matter?"

Her abdominal muscles clench, just slightly; she can't tell whether it's anxiety or a tiny first contraction.

"We have to go to the hospital now," she says. To her own ears, she sounds weak and helpless and scared; for all her talk about how unpleasant pregnancy is, she wishes that she could make this stop, hold the baby in, buy just a couple more days.

Tony looks like he's on the edge of panicking, too. But then he slides his arm around her, and she witnesses the physical shift in his facial expression as he pulls himself together for her sake. "Alright," he says, his voice steady and reassuring. "Come on."

0000000000

Whenever a particularly bad contraction hits, Ziva breathes in deeply and tries to think of a time when she had it worse: last year's car accident, the bombing in Morocco, the bullet she once took to her thigh. A gunshot is probably more painful than labor, she decides- but she was arrogant to believe that she was totally prepared for the latter.

Her present pain ebbs away, and she flops back against the pillows, loosening her grip on Tony's hand. In the hours since she was admitted to the hospital, he has hardly left her side. His hovering is not bothering her nearly as much as it usually does; rather, she is glad for his presence. Despite anything she's ever said, she would hate to do this alone.

"This is taking forever," she complains. The hard part has not even begun, but she feels exhausted. "It is already dark outside."

"How's your pain?"

"Manageable."

Tony absentmindedly toys with her fingers. "You wanna get up and walk around some more?"

She considers, but shakes her head. They have done this a couple times already, following the nurse's advice. It does not seem to be speeding anything up. "I would prefer to rest for a while."

"Okay." Something on his body pops as he pushes himself up and out of his chair. He shuts the door to block out the sound of doctors issuing orders and babies wailing. Basking in the sudden quiet, Ziva curls onto her side beneath the bed sheets. Tony dims the lights. She feels like she is fading with them.

He comes back over, but walks past his chair and sinks down on the edge of her bed instead. After watching her for a beat- making sure this arrangement is acceptable, she assumes- he brushes some stray pieces of hair from her face. "Are you sure you don't want the epidural? Might help you sleep better."

Ziva shakes her head firmly. She is not governed by a belief that Western medicine is a government conspiracy, and she is not determined to have a natural birth for any other reason- she just has no interest in getting an injection unless it is absolutely necessary. "I am fine."

As often as she uses this phrase, it might as well be written on her forehead. Sometimes she is being truthful and sometimes she's not; nevertheless, Tony knows better than to argue. With a nod, he toes off his shoes and sprawls out next to her, staying on top of the covers. She rests her temple against his shoulder. The baby squirms, anxious to make her grand entrance.

Ziva presses a hand to her stomach. "Tony?"

"Yeah."

Suddenly, there is nothing she wants more than to hold her child. The need is raw, desperate; she is not sure how much longer she can bear to wait. "I know that the baby was an accident," she says, fighting to keep her voice steady, "but she was not a mistake."

She peers up at him, and he looks right back at her. "Of course not," he says, his voice soft yet heavy in the stillness of the room. "Ziva, she's the farthest thing from a mistake in the world."

And that is the only reassurance she needs.


	10. Chapter 10

**Some of you may remember that on **_**Friends**_**, Ross suggested to Rachel that they name their baby Isabella. I forgot all about that until after I had already named Tony and Ziva's baby. I thought it was kind of a cool coincidence, though.**

**This is a really short chapter, but I'm pretty sure it's the one you've all been waiting for, so I really hope you enjoy it anyway!**

The night stretches on and on. Tony downs cup after cup of coffee. Ziva falls into fitful bursts of sleep. Around midnight, she gives up altogether. The overhead lights go back on, and so does the TV. Sitcoms and infomercials are their background noise as the minutes tick by. They knew that labor was largely a waiting game, but Tony did not expect it to be quite so anticlimactic. His initial rush of adrenaline wore off long ago. Caffeine is the only reason he's still awake. For Ziva, it's contractions. The bags beneath her eyes seem to darken with each passing hour, but she still continues to decline the epidural. She is tough; there's never been any question about that. Even so, the ease with which she has endured this labor is downright badass.

Dawn breaks. Yet another exam reveals that Ziva is still only seven centimeters dilated; she has been stuck there for most of the night. The pain and fatigue and frustration are beginning to get to her, he can tell. She keeps ducking her head and wiping her eyes. He isn't sure whether he should comfort her or pretend he hasn't noticed her upset, so he casually places his hand on the edge of the bed, where she can grab it if needed. She never does.

Around six-thirty, Tony's phone lights up with an incoming call from Gibbs. This will be the fourth time their boss has checked in, and there is still not much to report. He gets to his feet. "Hey. I'm gonna go grab some coffee and take this. Need anything?"

"No, I'm good."

"Okay." When he kisses her forehead, he can taste salty beads of sweat. Surely this will not last much longer. "Be right back."

He answers the call as he steps into the hallway. Gibbs grumpily responds, "Take you long enough to push a button, DiNozzo?"

"Sorry. I was talking to Ziva."

"How's she doin'?"

"Hanging in."

"What about you?"

Tony's steps falter a little, causing a pregnant woman in a wheelchair to nearly run over his toes. Mouthing an apology, he moves out of her way. "You know, I'm not sure how to answer that. I'm sort of in a caffeine coma here."

There is a pause. Gibbs is either smirking or frowning. Not knowing for sure is unnerving. "Try to savor this, DiNozzo. You only become a dad once."

Advice from Agent Gibbs should usually be followed, but advice from Gibbs the father is worth holding in high regard. As Tony joins a group of people waiting for the elevator, he finds himself looking into a mirror on the wall straight ahead. "I will."

"Good. And Tony." The switch from last name to first is never a good sign. "I got the message when Ziva told me to butt out, but I'm gonna go ahead and tell you this once. Only once. I'm not a blind man, and I'm not stupid, and I know how it is to have the person you love taken away from you. So listen to me: do _not_ let her slip through your fingers."

Tony watches his own jaw clench. The line separating his and Ziva's present relationship from something more is very blurry as of late, and Gibbs is absolutely correct: he could lose her in a million different ways. But, God, he just can't think about that right now. He can't.

"Today, we're having a baby," he says at last. "We'll see what happens tomorrow."

0000000000

The elevator never comes. Grumbling, the others go to use the one on the other end of the floor, but Tony just takes the stairs. Five flights leave him embarrassingly out of breath. He is trying not to pant too loudly as he enters the hospital cafeteria and heads for the coffee station. The young guy working there, probably nearing the end of his overnight shift, grins knowingly. "You're back."

"Yep."

"Same order?"

"Yeah." Tony pulls out his last few dollar bills. When the guy puts the coffee down in front of him, it is not a moment too soon. "Here. Keep the change."

"Thanks, man. Hey, maybe next time you come down you'll have that new father glow."

Tony laughs shortly. "Doubtful."

Back up the stairs and into the maternity ward he goes, careful not to slosh hot coffee all over his arm. He walks leisurely in the direction of Ziva's room until he hears her voice, distressed and shrill. Another woman's soothing tone follows. He can't make out their exact words, but something is clearly happening. Suddenly, he doesn't even need any caffeine. Pure adrenaline pushes him to close the distance between himself and his partner.

In the room, he finds two nurses and a doctor all moving quickly around Ziva's bed. Her knees are spread apart, and when she sees him, her face twists into a peculiar mixture of annoyance, relief and pain.

"What the hell is going on?" he asks.

The doctor answers. "The baby's had enough. We're dilated all the way, she's crowning. We're pushing. Dad, grab a leg."

"What?" he sputters as his brain struggles to process this abrupt development. One of the nurses curls her hand under Ziva's knee and hikes her whole leg up in the air. Tony takes the cue and does the same. He looks down at Ziva and finds her already staring at him, her expression unreadable. With his free hand, he smoothes down her messy hair. "Hey," he whispers, "you've got this. Come on. We're almost there. Isabella, she's almost here."

Ziva swallows and nods. "I know."

The doctor positions herself at the foot of the bed. "Alright, Ziva. Push when you're ready."

She hesitates for a moment, her eyes squeezed shut. Then they pop open, bearing new fire. "I'm ready."

0000000000

Ziva is a thousand times stronger than he could ever hope to be. She grunts and pants, but doesn't scream until the final push, the one that sends their baby girl careening into the world. Tony lets her leg down gently, and she immediately pushes herself up on her hands, watching as the doctor takes Isabella to be cleaned off. He slips his arm around her shoulders- for her support, or his, he isn't quite sure- and he stares, too. Nothing can be heard over the sound of Isabella's wails. Her raw voice completely dominates the room, and her shock of dark hair is all he can see.

When all the blood and fluid has been removed from her body, leaving nothing but pure, unblemished skin, a nurse swaddles her in a blanket, slips a tiny pink hat on her head, and walks back over to them. Ziva holds out her arms. The nurse carefully settles Isabella within them. "Congratulations, you two," she says with a soft smile, and then she is gone.

"Look at her, Tony." Ziva whispers as if she does not possess the physical or emotional strength to speak any louder. "Look."

He couldn't look away if he tried.

Sitting down on the bed next to her, he palms Isabella's head, so tiny within his large hand. She instinctively turns into his touch; her cries, quieter now, send warm breaths over his skin. Aside from her mother, she is the most amazing creature he's ever laid eyes on.

Ziva peppers kisses all over the baby's face. His hand is still there, so she accidentally catches one of his fingers with her lips, giving her pause. Tony waits for her to move away and act like nothing happened- it isn't really a big deal, after all- but then she raises her head and looks right at him for the first time since they became parents. Unlike earlier, she makes no attempt to hide the tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.

Carefully, she takes one arm out from under Isabella, keeping her balanced in the other one. She slides her hand around the back of his neck. He stares down at her- his partner, his best friend. The mother of his child.

"Thank you," she says lowly.

Tony feels like he should be the grateful one, but he nods anyway. When she pulls his head down and melds her mouth against his, he kisses her back. One second, two; that's all the longer it lasts. But it's enough.

All of this is more than enough.


	11. Chapter 11

A loud noise jars Ziva from a dreamless sleep. She blinks up at the ceiling, then down at her hospital gown. Once the fog clears enough for her to remember where she is, she looks around for Tony and finds him in the corner of the room, next to Isabella's bassinet. He gives her a sheepish smile as he retrieves a box of wipes from the floor.

"Sorry," he says. "We're good here. Go back to sleep."

Ignoring his request, she tosses back her blankets and pads over in her socks. She watches as Tony fastens a new diaper around Isabella's bottom. His movements are clumsy, uncertain, and when he is done, he tugs at the waistband uncertainly. It stays on. "That's right. Right?"

"Yes." Isabella turns toward the sound of her voice, and Ziva's chest warms as she touches the baby's forehead. Six pounds, that's all she weighs; she is so fragile and delicate that Ziva can't help but be cautious with her. Confidence, she hopes, will come in due time.

With the baby taken care of, Tony shifts his attention to Ziva. "You look a lot better."

He ran home earlier this afternoon to grab clean clothes for the both of them, and Ziva was thrilled to end a long, hot shower by slipping into a pair of her own pajamas. After brushing out her hair and feeding Isabella, she took a long nap. She is still drowsy, but she is functional. As long as that is the case, she would much rather marvel at her daughter than return to bed.

"Having your baby wasn't enough for you, DiNozzo? I need to be attractive, too?"

His jaw falls open in horror. She lets him stutter for a few seconds before dropping her stern façade. When he sees the smile stretching across her face, he lightly shoves her shoulder. "That was cruel, David."

"I found it entertaining." Ziva slips a blanket beneath Isabella and wraps her in it the way the nurse showed them earlier, then brings the baby to her chest, all the while meeting her alert eyes. "Would you like to sit with _Ima _for a while?"

Referring to herself as a mother feels surreal and somewhat intimidating. She does not quite know what to expect from herself as she takes on this additional identity. Her own mother was not a particularly kind woman. Had there not been so much stress in her life, she may have been; Ziva and Tali occasionally caught glimpses of a woman who laughed and danced to the radio, who braided their hair and tucked them into bed. Mostly, she fumed about Eli or complained about the secretarial job she hated but never made any attempt to leave. She was so caught up in the bad parts of her life that she died without fully appreciating the good.

Ziva sinks onto the edge of the bed, Isabella a comforting weight against her chest, and resolves to stop falling into that same trap (because God knows she has allowed it to happen many times before). Her life has been full of grief and violence; perhaps the worst has passed, and perhaps not. Either way, she will not allow it to consume her again.

She will not do that to her child.

"Hey," Tony says, drawing her from her thoughts. He holds his phone up in the air. "Listen, I've spent most of the day trying to ward Abby off, but she isn't caving. Are you up for some company?"

"Of course," Ziva says. "Tell her to bring everybody."

"Alright. I'm gonna tell them to get us some food, too." He finishes typing his message to Abby and lightly runs a hand down Ziva's arm as he passes her en route to a chair. Pretending that his touch hasn't ignited a million nerves in her weary body, Ziva stares down at Isabella.

The baby stares right back.

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Donning a headband and little white mittens, Isabella comes home the next day. Tony spends a ridiculous amount of time taking pictures outside the hospital, then after they have loaded her into the car. He doesn't stop until Ziva snatches his phone away and orders him to start driving. The photo embargo only lasts until they reach their building; at that point, Ziva's tension begins to ease. She relinquishes the phone so he can document their trek up to the apartment. The baby has been asleep since they pulled off of the highway; after she has been placed in her crib, they move quietly around the apartment, getting settled back in, speaking quietly. Ziva feels something like peace come over her.

Until an almighty howl signals that Isabella is awake.

The hours of diapering and feeding and soothing and short-lived napping pass in a blur, then turn into days. In a previous life, Ziva had to operate on little to no sleep fairly often, and even though it has been years since then, she still finds that she is able to draw on that skill. She is certainly more equipped to handle this new schedule than Tony, who will probably owe her a new coffee maker after her current one wears out from overuse.

Caring for a newborn is grueling work. Regardless of military training.

Late one night, Ziva wakes up not to Isabella's cries, but to her own dry throat. She buries her face in her pillow for several seconds before finally finding the strength to push back her covers. The apartment, for once, is blissfully silent. She briefly considers staying up to read a book, but she would inevitably come to regret not sleeping while she had the chance.

On her way to the kitchen, she peeks into the nursery and is startled to find Tony standing in the middle of the room, holding Isabella against his bare chest. Her eyes are closed and so are his. Slowly, as if in a trance, he shifts his weight from foot to foot. A sudden, desperate longing rises up in Ziva's throat, threatening to suffocate her.

She is still staring when Tony happens to look up. He lifts two fingers off of the baby's back to beckon her closer. Ziva sends him a small smile as she comes up beside him, running her thumb across Isabella's soft cheek.

"I didn't hear her crying," she says softly.

"I was already up when she started. All she needed was a Daddy cuddle."

Ziva laughs a little. "Do you have any idea how strange it is to hear you say things like that?"

"Yeah, I know." He cranes his neck downward to kiss the baby's head. She shifts a little bit, but sleeps on. "It's not… it's not as scary as I thought it would be. I mean, I'm probably always gonna be a little freaked out, but the fact that she just… trusts us to take care of her makes me feel like we can. Well, like _I_ can. There was never any question you could."

"I questioned it," she admits softly, leaning her temple against his shoulder for just a second. She does not elaborate; she doesn't tell him about all the nights she lay in bed, feeling the baby's kick and mulling over her many anxieties. "Everybody does."

They stand together, the three of them, until a yawn gets the better of Tony. He goes to the crib and situates Isabella inside of it. "'Night," he tells Ziva softly, and then moves toward the door, his steps sluggish. Before she can think it through, she finds herself saying, "Tony, come sleep in my room."

He pauses with one foot in the hallway. Ziva bites her lip, hoping she hasn't overstepped some boundary. But he has been spending just as much time caring for the baby as she has, and he is exhausted, too, and she feels guilty that he has been exiled to an air mattress.

"It's okay, Ziva. I'm fine."

She crosses her arms. "If you are worried about us doing something stupid, I think that- that, firstly, that has already been achieved. But there is also no chance of it happening again, because, trust me- you do not want to be involved with anything between my legs right now."

The room is dark, but she could swear he flushes a little. And, again, she is concerned that she has gone too far, until he nods. "Okay. That- that'd be great. If you really don't mind."

"I don't."

Tony turns as if to leave, then looks back at her, a mischievous grin on his face. "What about after, you know… all that stuff gets back to normal?"

She raises her chin. "We'll see."

He laughs.

But she isn't joking.


	12. Chapter 12

**In my stories, I always assume that US government employees get better family leave than most people do… so if it seems like they're getting a lot more time off than normal, they probably are. This ain't maternity/paternity leave research hour.**

On the morning Tony's alarm goes off, not as a reminder to check on Isabella, but a prompt to get up for his first day back at work, he grips his pillow and wills it to go away. The droning goes on until Ziva swats him. "Turn that _off_."

He does. The mattress shifts as she snuggles back under her covers and he tosses his to the side. Her leave is three months; he only gets two weeks. She is not yet at one hundred percent, physically, so he's glad she has extra paid time to recover- though, as the baby will be with her all day, it's not exactly going to be relaxing. But he's jealous. He'd rather be overworked with her and Isabella than with Gibbs and McGee and some dead body.

He takes a shower, then returns to the room with a citrus scent clinging to his skin (he used Ziva's shampoo by accident). When he sees her awake, lying on her side and staring at her phone, he balks and instinctively puts his hand on the knot holding his towel around his waist. She flicks her eyes up to his before skimming them over the rest of his mostly bare body.

"Getting a good long look to hold you over?" he asks.

"I wish you were staying here."

Surprised, he pauses in the midst of getting a suit out of the closet. She avoids his gaze as she sets her phone back on the nightstand. Tony steps up to the side of the bed. "I can dip into my vacation, or take a sick day-"

"No." Ziva shakes her head firmly. "We need to save our time off. Once I go back, our schedules will be insane."

He knows she's right. Suddenly having two cups to fill instead of just one is not easy.

In fact, it kind of sucks.

The division of time… the _compromising_ of time.

"Call me if you change your mind, and I'll be in the car so fast Gibbs won't even get a chance to slap me for it," he says. That draws a chuckle from her. "Seriously. You two are gonna be fine."

The glance she throws toward the baby monitor is full of apprehension and doubt. On a whim, Tony rubs his thumb along her jaw. Ziva sighs and leans into the touch. She looks so tired. He is, too.

"This is going to get easier," he assures her. And himself. "Soon."

Her eyelids droop as she nods. Taking that as his cue to let her rest, he pulls away and quietly gets dressed. He peeks into Isabella's room on his way out. Sound asleep with her fists flanking her head, she is a sight for sore eyes.

It is not yet seven in the morning, but he already can't wait to come home.

0000000000

They eat a _lot_ of takeout.

It meets all of the criteria they are governed by right now: it's quick, easy, and requires minimal effort. Every few days, Ziva declares that they are done eating junk and fixes something way better, but, inevitably, greasy bags soon pile up in their trash again. Any stranger watching them eat together at the table and talk about their days and pass their baby back and forth would think that they are a married couple. Hell, sometimes Tony forgets the reality of the situation. Playing house has a way of feeling very, very real.

Ziva usually takes a much-needed baby break after dinner. When she has disappeared into her bedroom and the only sound in the apartment is the hum of the dishwasher, Tony makes a bottle and sits down to feed Isabella. Stress accumulated at work is lessened by this bonding time with his daughter; he cannot help but be grounded by the little ball of warmth in his arms. She goes at the bottle desperately, and once she has finished, she watches him expectantly as if to ask, _what next?_ Often, she is lulled to sleep by a combination of the Nationals' TV broadcast and Tony's voice as he adds his input quietly in her ear: "His foot wasn't even on the bag. That was a really bad call, huh, Is?" It's a lullaby of his own making, and though it's not nearly as pretty as the Hebrew ones Ziva sings, he believes it will suffice.

Having declared himself the chief documenter of Isabella's early life, he already has upwards of seven hundred pictures of her on his phone. Ziva says it's ridiculous, that a child six weeks of age is not interesting enough to warrant so much photography, but he definitely doesn't hear any complaints when he sets a candid of her kissing Isabella as the wallpaper on her cell. She frequently asks to look at his album when they're lying in bed at night. He lets her, of course, and then he watches as she smiles and laughs at the screen. Many times, he nods off with that image floating behind his closed eyelids.

One night, he is on the cusp of consciousness when Ziva suddenly says, "Oh, wow."

"What?" he asks on a yawn.

"This picture." She turns the phone toward him. "Something about her facial expression… she looks exactly like you."

"Let me explain to you the theory of genetics," Tony teases, prompting a glare from her. She's right, though. Isabella generally doesn't resemble one of them more than the other, but this particular shot would be enough to prove his paternity in court. "At least now I know you haven't been lying to me. I was sort of suspic- ow!"

With a smirk, Ziva pats his gut where she just smacked it, then turns her attention back to the phone in her hand. "Can you believe how much she has grown already?"

"No," he says honestly. "And she looks like an actual person now."

She glances over at him. "What did she look like before?"

"I don't know. Like… kinda like a monkey."

"Tony!" she scolds, and for a moment, he thinks that he may just meet his end at the hands of Mama Bear. "You think our daughter looked like a _monkey_?"

"She was all wrinkly, remember? And her head looked too big for her body, her face was all…" He pushes his cheeks upwards until they enter his line of vision. "You know?"

"She needed some time to grow into her own skin, is all."

"Right, yeah. Exactly."

Ziva rolls her eyes, and although he knows she's not mad, per se, he gets the feeling that he shouldn't let the conversation end like this. On a whim, he extends one arm across the bed, allowing it to settle on top of her stomach. She startles slightly. Tony positions his chin right next to her shoulder. "Even when she reminded me of a little chimp, she was gorgeous, Ziva. She's us. She's our missing puzzle piece."

Their noses become startlingly close when Ziva turns toward him, and Tony shifts backward out of reflex. If their proximity bothers Ziva, she doesn't show it in her serious expression. "You think we fit together like that?" she asks quietly. "Like a puzzle?"

"You don't?"

His question lingers in the air. At long last, she shrugs. "I certainly hope we do."

She stretches to turn off her lamp, then, and Tony takes his arm back. They are not quite touching, but he stays where he is, on her side of the bed, for however long it is before Isabella's cries crackle through the baby monitor. Ziva wins the quick round of rock, paper, scissors, so he is the one to get up. That's the end of the almost cuddling thing, he guesses. At least for tonight.

But when he returns fifteen minutes later, he finds Ziva fast asleep in the middle of the mattress, her head on one half of his pillow. Tony crawls in beside her and claims the other half. Beneath the covers, their knees touch.

And as it turns out, he sleeps just fine that way.


	13. Chapter 13

The air-conditioned NCIS lobby is a welcome change from the humidity outside, and Ziva sighs in relief as the doors close behind her. Hiking the baby carrier a bit further up her arm, she peeks beneath the shade to check on Isabella, then ducks into a side hall leading to the daycare wing. She has never actually been in this part of the building before. The walls are covered in artwork made by the older children, and a low, steady murmur of voices drifts out of open classroom doors. Ziva finds the infant room, set a little ways apart from the rest, and slips inside. A couple of babies are in cribs; three more play on the floor. One of the staff members sees her and comes over, looking mildly confused. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Agent Ziva David. This is Isabella. I have enrolled her already-"

"Oh, yeah, yeah," the woman interrupts, recognition lighting her features. "I remember seeing your papers. I'm Marie, nice to meet you. Are you back at work today?"

"No, I have another three weeks," she says. "I'm just visiting for a while. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, that's fine. We'll take care of her." Marie reaches for the carrier. For a couple of seconds, Ziva is stricken, unwilling to let her baby go. She finally uncurls her fingers from the handle, and a second later, it slips from her palm. "Take your time!"

The cheery dismissal does nothing to stop the panic that is rising up in Ziva's throat. In theory, the idea of utilizing a daycare does not bother her, but she is suddenly very aware that she has never left Isabella alone with anybody besides Tony. She could avert this crisis by taking Isabella up to the bullpen with her. That would only delay the inevitable, though; soon, she will be back for good. The baby is going to have to stay here during the day. They might as well get the first time over with now.

Marie seems to know exactly what is going through her mind- Ziva imagines that in this line of work, she has dealt with many anxious parents. "She'll be fine. If we have any problems, I'll call you."

"Okay," Ziva says. She casts one last glance at Isabella, who is sucking on two fingers and tilting her head as if to implore, _where are you going?_ Only an ounce of courage remains within her, and she quickly gathers it up. "Thank you."

Turning around and leaving may just be the hardest thing she's ever done. All the way down the hallway, she fights back tears while simultaneously berating herself- _you do not need to be with her every second of every day; she didn't cry, so why should you?_

Being a mother is very different from being a soldier or an assassin or a federal agent. She has no training, no experience; she is learning as she goes. It is rewarding, and it is difficult. As she steps onto the empty elevator, she remembers last week, when Tony came home to find her sobbing on the couch, completely overwhelmed by Isabella and her fussiness and her never-ending needs. She relayed this semi-coherently, and he responded by putting his arms around her. "Cut yourself some slack," was his advice. Perhaps she should.

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When she arrives in the squad room, she wipes her eyes, squares her shoulders, and quickly composes herself. Gibbs, McGee, and Tony are all staring down at files; nobody notices her until she rounds the corner. Tony raises his eyebrows, but his surprise quickly morphs into panic. "What's wrong?" he asks, rising halfway out of his chair. "Where's Isabella?"

"I left her at the daycare, Tony. She is fine. I figured that this would be a good time for the teachers to get acquainted with her."

"Oh." The muscles in his shoulders relax visibly. Now he just looks confused. "What are you doing here, then?"

Ziva sinks into her neglected chair and takes a quick inventory of her desktop. Everything, she's pleased to discover, is exactly as she left it. "I was bored."

"You've come to the wrong place for a thrill," McGee says, motioning to the large box between his desk and Tony's. "We're reviewing cold cases."

She makes a face, because he's right- that doesn't sound any more enticing than sitting at home. "I believe I'll go see Abby."

"What, we're not good enough for you?" Tony whines. "Come on. I'm the father of your child!"

"And, consequently, I see you all the time. That is more than enough," she says, standing. Gibbs stays quiet, but smirks. She winks at Tony so he knows she's joking.

As she walks past his desk, he wheels his chair toward her. "Hey."

"Hmm?"

"Was Isabella upset when you left?"

"No." She hesitates, then adds, "I was, though. A little."

Tony nods understandingly. "Yeah." He squeezes her hand so briefly she almost misses it. "Come back here before you go, okay? I'll walk you down and say hi to Is."

"I will," she promises.

On the way to the lab, several acquaintances stop her to chat. She has the same conversation over and over- "Fine, thank you, three weeks, yes, Agent DiNozzo is her father, but he and I are just friends"- and keeps receiving the same look: bemusement sloppily concealed with politeness. By the time she enters Abby's lab, exposing her ears to assault via thumping bass, she is feeling quite annoyed.

"Ziva!" Abby yells, abandoning the computer in favor of pulling her into a hug. "I didn't know you were coming in! I would have made cookies!"

"I hadn't planned on it, but I had house fever," Ziva explains- loudly, to be heard over the music. "Are you busy?"

"No, not really." She pulls away and reaches over to turn down the volume on her stereo. "Waiting for results on something. It could take a while. Let's talk! It's been, like, two weeks since I came over? Did you guys like the casserole? I never asked Tony."

"Yes, it was good. And very nice of you. We can hardly find the time to eat right now, much less cook." Ziva leans against a table, brushing her hand over its stainless steel surface. She will be glad to go pick up Isabella, but it is definitely nice to be back here. "I usually have Tony get something on his way home."

Abby shakes her head. "You guys are such a _couple_."

"Abby," Ziva sighs. She'd thought that she would be able to avoid this with at least one colleague today. "You know we are not a couple."

"Not _technically_, but between your shared apartment and your baby and your _dinners_, you're pretty close to one." While she talks, she begins rummaging around in her fridge. She eventually emerges with a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries. Ziva's mouth waters, and she reaches for one as soon as Abby has placed it in front of her. "They're fresh. I made them yesterday."

"What for?"

"My friend Maryann, it was her birthday and her husband threw a surprise party. These are just extra." Then she is back to the topic at hand. "Don't you ever wonder what'll happen if you meet someone else? The whole thing with Tony might scare them off."

Ziva picks up another strawberry and digs her teeth into it. The truth is, she _doesn't_ worry about her possible relationships with other men, because she cannot imagine spending her life with anyone who is not Tony. Perhaps it would not be the smart route, and it certainly wouldn't be the easy one. But what he told her once rings true- the heart wants what it wants. He has put hers through hell more than once, and she has done the same to him. They have both done things, said things, that they shouldn't have. To her, however, his character is not defined by those mistakes. He is defined by all the times he has put his life on the line to save hers and his refusal to let her go through an unplanned pregnancy by herself; he is defined by his determination to make her feel beautiful, even at her lowest point. He is defined by the way he tugs her blanket down over her feet, and by the raspberries he blows against Isabella's stomach, and by the tear that slid down his nose when he held their daughter for the first time. _That _is the man she knows. And she wants to be with him.

"Whatever happens will happen," she tells Abby vaguely. "I do not anticipate having the time or energy to date anytime soon."

"Still. You're going to want to eventually," Abby says, and then she says, "_Oh, _hey! I have to tell you something! So the other day, that guy from accounting, you know, the one with the stupid goatee? I saw him in the break room…"

Ziva listens to the story closely enough that she is able to laugh and express outrage in the appropriate places, but her mind is elsewhere. She is remembering Tony, not quite a year ago, telling her that he wanted to raise the baby _with_ her, his implication being that they would begin a relationship. She told him no- that it would be too complicated, too much of a risk. And that was not untrue. Abby is right, though: they are basically living as a couple now, and, despite the exhaustion and stress of caring for a baby- not to mention their jobs- it seems to be working so far. Ziva is more convinced than ever that they could make it.

She just isn't sure whether she'll get another chance to try.


	14. Chapter 14

_December_

Tony ducks into the Charger and immediately finds a hand in his face. "Jeez, pushy," he says, pressing Ziva's coffee into her palm. "Here's your nasty cheese bread thing, too."

"It's a _Danish_."

He knows that, actually; he just likes to get her riled up. "Fine, whatever. You know, you might want to spend less time idolizing the Danes and more time eating good ol' American foods. Like donuts."

"Why?" She reaches over to poke his (admittedly, rather soft) stomach. "So I can have one of those?"

With a glare in her direction, he puts the car in reverse. "You'll regret this conversation when it's my turn to get lunch and you ask for a burger."

Ziva laughs and tears off a piece of her pastry. "I'll take my chances."

He backs out of his space and heads for the exit. As he joins the line of cars trying to turn left (an ambitious endeavor, but he's going to risk it), Ziva says, "Do you realize it was just about a year ago, at this same store, when you got mad at me for not inviting you to my ultrasound?"

It takes Tony several seconds to remember the day in question. She's right- it was last December, or maybe November, and the snow was coming down hard, and they were still trying to process everything that was going on.

It seems like a lifetime ago.

"I wasn't _mad_," he clarifies. "I just wanted to be included."

"I know." Her voice softens. "I'm sorry I didn't do a very good job of that. My… instinct, as with most things, was to handle it myself."

He is no stranger to this tendency of hers; it has driven many a wedge between them, but he holds no grudge against her. He has had enough of that anger over the course of their partnership. Too much. He refuses to ruin all the progress they've made by dwelling on past hurts.

"It doesn't matter," he assures her. "We're good now." Finally, the cars in front of him clear, and he is able to turn onto the main road. "Okay, where am I going?"

She leans forward and begins messing with the new GPS no one on their team has quite figured out how to use yet. Several cusswords escape her lips before she gets them on the right track, and it winds up taking way longer than it should for them to arrive at their witness's office- but they do get there.

That's what counts.

0000000000

"You heard the yelling?"

The witness, Marcus Kittson, licks his lips and adjusts the Bluetooth piece in his ear. Clearly, he is a very important man; there are three iPads sitting on the desk behind him, and this corner office is about the size of Tony and Ziva's entire apartment. "Yeah. Behind the building. I ran back there, but by the time I found the guy, he was dead."

"You did not see his attacker," Ziva clarifies.

"No."

"And you did not recognize the victim."

"No. Never seen him in my life." Something beeps. Kittson picks up an iPad and swipes at the screen a couple of times before putting it back down. "I told all this to the police already."

"Those were first responding officers. Not our people," says Tony.

Kittson casts him a brief glance, but directs his reply toward Ziva. "What else do you need to know?"

Getting the picture, Tony stands back and lets the two of them finish the interview. There's no reason to cause conflict with a cooperating witness, even if said witness is pissing him off by ogling Ziva. He has no idea that Tony has any sort of romantic history with her, and even if he did, why would he feel threatened? There is no ring on her finger. This guy is good-looking, sharply dressed, and probably uses a stack of dollar bills to wipe his own ass. After Ziva thanks him for his time, he smiles with the confidence of a man who has never been told no. "Let me get you my card, Agent David," he says, grabbing one off the top of a stack. He turns it over and scribbles something on the back. "Here. That's my cell."

Tony's stomach knots as Ziva takes the card and slips it into her pocket. "We will let you know if we have further questions," she says.

Kittson, honest to God, _winks_ at her. "Don't even hesitate."

She smiles at him, and he thinks he might throw up. Without a word, he turns around and leaves the office. A couple of seconds pass before he hears her footsteps following. He doesn't turn around.

Suddenly she is right beside him, her face twisted in confusion and concern. "What's wrong?"

They pass Kittson's secretary. She wishes them a good day, but Tony barely registers it. When they reach the elevator, he punches the down button harder than necessary. Grabbing his arm, Ziva yanks him around to face her. "_What_ is the matter?' she demands.

"Are you going to call him?"

She stares. "What?"

"The guy who just spent twenty minutes checking you out? Remember? He gave you- not us, _you_- his personal cell number?" The elevator arrives behind them with a _ding_. When he steps inside, he swears the temperature goes up fifteen degrees. Maybe it's just him, hot as his blood is right now.

He sees Ziva reach for the emergency stop switch as they begin their descent, but she must decide that they shouldn't hog somebody else's elevator, because she pulls back in the end. The withering glare she sends him is like a knife to the gut. He doesn't want to be deserving of that look from her- and right now, he definitely is.

But the anger and the hurt and the fear consume him. He is frozen.

"What did you want me to do, Tony?" she hisses. "Deny it? Throw it away in front of him?"

"I don't know! You could have seemed less willing to _take it_."

Ziva laughs, but she is not amused. The sound is bitter. It leaves him feeling the same. "You are being ridiculous."

Deep down, he sort of thinks so, too. He rakes a hand through his hair and attempts to calm down. To think. "I thought… I thought we were working toward something here. I mean…" Tony searches for words. The right words. Something to make this better. Her face is red; she is pissed, so pissed, and he would do anything to be back in the car, making fun of her cheese Danish. "Do you want to see other people?"

That wasn't the right question to ask. She breathes in deeply and opens her mouth just as the elevator comes to a halt on the fourth floor. Several people enter, oblivious to the tension in the air. Ziva turns away from him and keeps her eyes trained straight ahead. She doesn't look at him when they enter the lobby; she doesn't look at him as they walk through the revolving front door. "Ziva," he says once they are outside, but she keeps going. Tony follows her into the parking lot. That's where she turns on him.

Tears quiver on the ends of her eyelashes.

He truly hates himself.

"_No_," she says, too loudly, but he sure as hell isn't about to shush her. "_No_, I don't want to see other people. And _no_, I wasn't going to call him. If you really thought I was going to, then you are not paying attention, Tony."

"Paying attention to what?"

"To me!" She jabs a finger into his chest. Over her head, he sees a woman glance curiously in their direction. They're federal agents; they shouldn't be having such a loud, public disagreement, but he has hit a nerve with Ziva- there's no stopping her now. "We have made no commitments. I can see any man I want. But I have not, I haven't been planning on it, because I like what we have. Tony, when I found out I was pregnant, I thought everything between us was ruined. But I… was wrong. Isabella has only brought us closer together. And I want things to stay just like this. I want the three of us to be together. Why would you _think _I'm interested in anyone else?"

The accusation in her tone only renews his anger. Keeping his voice low is a struggle when all he wants to do is yell in frustration. "That's what I wanted from the beginning, Ziva, and you shot me down. I'm not a fucking psychic. You can't expect me to magically know when you've changed your mind."

Her tears are falling freely now, sending lines of mascara down her cheeks. She rips Marcus Kittson's business card from her pocket and rips it into shreds before dropping the pieces on the ground between them. "There. Are you happy?"

No. No, he is far from it.

They drive back to NCIS in a horrible silence punctuated every so often by Ziva's quiet sniffles. Tony starts to talk half a dozen times, but keeps losing his nerve. As soon as he puts the car in park, she is out. The door slams shut behind her. He watches her stomp toward the building.

Once she has disappeared, he rests his forehead on the steering wheel and tries to breathe.


	15. Chapter 15

_Numi numi yaldati, numi numi nim_

_Numi numi k'tanati, numi numi nim_

_Abba halakh la-avodah, halakh halakh aba,_

_Yashuv im tseit ha-l'vanah_

_Yavee lakh matanah_

_Numi numi yaldati, numi numi nim_

_Numi numi k'tanati, numi numi nim_

Ziva trails off, pushing her feet against the floor to keep the rocking chair in motion. The glow of a nearby nightlight falls over Isabella's face as she releases a soft sigh, her eyelashes falling upon her cheeks. One of her tiny hands rests against the one Ziva has securely around her middle. When Ziva leans down to kiss the soft skin of her daughter's wrist, she glances at her own watch. It is after eight. Her stomach twists again.

Tony is still not home.

Gibbs, sensing that something was not right, made them leave at about four-thirty. When they arrived at the apartment, Tony pulled into a parking space and immediately got out. Ziva stayed where she was until she heard the back door open; then she stepped into the cold and watched through the windshield as Tony unbuckled Isabella. Ducking out of the car, he lifted her up and gave her a kiss on the mouth. She squirmed happily. He pressed his nose against her cheek, whispered something, and in the next second he was standing in front of Ziva. "Here," he said, the first word he'd spoken to her in hours, and then handed her both the baby and the diaper bag. Isabella wailed when her father turned his back. Ziva stood where she was, stunned, as Tony climbed into the car and drove away without a second glance at them. She wasn't sure what had just happened, but she had a gnawing fear- that his intimate moment with Isabella had been a goodbye; that he had left them for good.

_ He would not leave you, _she tells herself. _He would not leave _her.

She glances down at her phone, poised on her thigh in case he decides to call. About seven, she tried to reach him. The phone rang four times before she got his voicemail. Usually, with them, that is a sign that someone needs to send out a search party. But tonight, she knows that he just doesn't want to talk to her.

"He will be back," she says quietly, rubbing her thumb along Isabella's side. "At least for you."

Hopefully, for both of them.

Isabella falls completely asleep, but Ziva doesn't move. The warmth of the baby against her chest is her lone comfort in the dark, empty apartment. She is not willing to relinquish her just yet.

At half past eight, she hears a key turn in the front door and freezes. Then footsteps enter the house, and she recognizes them as Tony's. Her heart lifts.

"Your father is home," she whispers to Isabella, who does not stir.

Ziva's mind races with the anticipation of seeing him, until he appears in the doorway. She is still angry at him- for his accusations this morning, and now for worrying her so much- but her immense relief at the sight of him overrides everything else.

"Hey," he says softly, then nods at Isabella. "Is she asleep?"

"Yes. She has been for a while. I am hogging her."

Tony smiles. It is hard to tell with only a small nightlight to go by, but she thinks his eyes look bloodshot. He takes a couple of hesitant steps toward them. "I, uh… wasn't sure if you'd eaten, so there's some General's in the kitchen for you."

Up until now, she has been too upset to eat. The thought of food wets her mouth. "Thank you."

He nods, and they fall into an awkward silence. Ziva fiddles with the zipper at the top of Isabella's sleeper. As she stares into the baby's peaceful face, she suddenly remembers how it looked earlier, scrunched up and red, after Tony had driven away.

Without any further thought, Ziva reproaches him: "She cried for an hour after you left."

"I'm sorry."

"I thought you weren't coming back."

His eyes widen in horror. "Ziva." Then he is right there, his hands reaching out to cradle her face. Skating his thumbs over her temples, he tilts her head up, forcing her to look straight into his eyes. And, yes, she can tell now that he has been crying. "Listen to me," he says lowly. Fiercely. "I will _always_ come back."

She knows.

She _knows._

She knew all along.

With a heavy sigh, he drops his hands. His forehead wrinkles sorrowfully. "We haven't been honest with each other, Ziva."

"That much we can agree on."

"Look, what happened today, it was my fault. Completely. I freaked out over nothing. I just… I was afraid." He shrugs, but she knows that isn't an easy admission to make. It never is. Not for either of them.

Careful not to jostle the baby, Ziva gets to her feet. She is hyperaware of Tony's eyes on her as she lays Isabella in the crib. For several seconds, she stares down at her tiny, fragile daughter while she collects her thoughts and her courage and her nerve. Then she turns toward him.

"What were you afraid of?" she asks quietly.

His mouth opens and closes.

"You say you want honesty between us, Tony. Let's be honest. What were you afraid of?"

"The same thing that's behind a lot of stupid ass decisions I've made in my life. The same damn thing. Losing you." He shakes his head, runs his fingers through his hair. "Don't you ever wish for a guy like that? A normal guy, with a normal job? Who never…" Tony makes a vague gesture toward the crib. "Who never knocked you up? Or, hell, shot your boyfriend? Indirectly sent you to be tortured in a terrorist camp?" The mention of Somalia causes her chest to seize in a sudden display of panic, and she holds a closed fist against the hollow of her throat. "I mean, really, when we get down to it, why _wouldn't_ you call him?"

In a way, he's right. A relationship with a man like Marcus Kittson would be easier than one with Tony- more superficial, certainly, and devoid of a troubled history. It could work. It might even be nice. But it is not what she wants, and she's known that since she nearly married Ray for the sake of convenience. And yet she has continued to participate in this roulette of ignoring the truth. It is a miracle no bullets were fired before today.

Now there is smoke in the air. This dangerous game of avoidance and evasion has to stop. _Has_ to.

Raising her chin, Ziva looks him in the eye, willing him to understand that she is about to be brutally honest. "Tony, everything I told you earlier was true. It was never my intention to call Kittson, because I do want to be with you. To raise Isabella together. I have no desire to bring anyone else into this situation. Please, _please_, get that through your thick skull."

Tony stares at her for longer than she is comfortable with, and then he drops his forehead into his hand. "God."

"What?" Her heart sinks. "I thought that is what you wanted, too."

"It is," he says quickly. "I just can't believe how much time we've wasted."

"We don't have to waste anymore."

"Ziva, what if it doesn't work? The only thing harder than not being with you would be… not having you…" She notes the bulge of his Adam's apple as he swallows. "In my life at all."

There it is: the _what if _scenario they always seem to come back to, the possibility that has kept them from pursuing probabilities.

"We will make it work," she tells him firmly. "We have to. There is a child involved. But we have to commit, Tony- right now. To honesty. To _talking _with each other. To putting as much effort into this relationship as we have into avoiding it for however many years."

Doubtful whispers plague her mind even as she exudes confidence, and she can sense Tony's hesitation. Like him, she has spent years carefully constructing a wall around her heart. Now it is in shambles, and her instinct is to rebuild it- but, no. No. She can't. She won't. His heart is raw, too; she can tell from the way he's staring at her, pleading and hoping and _yearning_. Of course there are no guarantees that things will work out between them, but nothing in life- in anyone's, but especially theirs- is guaranteed. Not even tomorrow.

Why, then, should they deprive themselves today?

Ziva takes a step toward Tony and slides her hands up his chest, caresses the sides of his neck. Through their shirts, she can feel his heartbeat, steady and reassuring.

"I'm terrified," he admits quietly.

"So am I."

Their foreheads fall against each other. He looks at her through his lashes. "I'm gonna kiss you anyway," he whispers. She barely has time to process his words before he follows through. The kiss is not deep, nor is it particularly long; there will be plenty of time for passion. For now, they have reassurance.

Some time later, Ziva leads him to her bedroom by the hand. It is there that they lose their clothes and their inhibitions; they become bare and needy and desperate. And afterward, when they are splayed naked atop the covers and she is tucked snugly into Tony's arms, raking her fingers through his chest hair, she finds the fear in her heart giving way to hope. She does not realize that she is smiling until he asks what she's thinking about. Shifting her head so she can see his face- complete with tousled hair and a sleepy, satisfied grin- she says, "We are going to be a family."

"No." Tony shakes his head and drops his lips to her hairline. "We already are."


End file.
